How Noble Of You
by PetraS
Summary: I still remember the first time I set eyes upon the four year old boy. He was small and tan, and spoke in a strange manner which I could not understand, however it was the first time I had been let out of my mansion and allowed to explore warily without my governess. Escaping from her eagle eyes was a big feat, but making friends with this odd looking boy was not. Connor Kenway/OC
1. Beginnings

_1760_

It has been years since I had traversed through such green land. The country which I had come from lacked greenery and most of my time was spent indoors avoiding the unpredictable bouts of rain. Oh, how I loved the rain and everything that came with it - the petrichor and the thirst it quenched. The thirst of the poor, the thirst of the plants, the thirst of the miserable and the thirst for redemption.

However, my governess was a rather stern, buxom woman who hated the rain and the mud and the slush and everything that would soak her pretty dresses down to the petticoat. Hence why, I was never allowed to leave the mansion and instead would spend an enlightening session of the Tudor's history and how Great Britain was indeed great. For a four year old such as myself, I grew increasingly bored with the history of strong monarchs and instead craved the adventures that my servant boys often spoke so fondly about. I simply wanted to see the world - my governess would be scandalised at the idea of a young girl exploring outside the safety of her home therefore I never mentioned it to her.

This all changed one day when my father announced that he was taking me on a grand tour of the world. I could not be more joyous at this news, for it felt like I had been granted my greatest wish - a wish I could not ever voice. My governess, Miss Penelope was not too happy about the change of environment and travelling on a ship seemed much too uncomfortable for her.

My father, Charles Lee assured her that we would be back in no time and I could resume my studies, but Miss Penelope made sure to pack heavily for a trip that she said would most likely extend due to the unforeseeable circumstances of my father's job. So in two weeks time, when I stepped off the merchant's ship (much to the dismay of my governess!), I saw that the vast land before me was green and dense and people - so many people that wore different clothes. It was the first time I had fallen in love.

Our mansion was located in the middle of nowhere and stable boys were tending to the horses when I arrived hand in hand with Miss Penelope. She was complaining throughout the entire carriage ride about how ladies should not have to deal with such discomfort, but I had spent time ignoring her with my face glued to the tiny square window. Lush green trees and small animals that would scurry around occasionally were before my sight and I had never felt more free than I did then.

"You there!" Miss Penelope let my hand go and stepped forward, her lace parasol held on her shoulder while she addressed the small, dark-skinned stable boy. "Take these things inside immediately. Are our rooms ready to accustom us?"

The boy nodded hurriedly, grabbing two small wooden suitcases easily. He looked up and our eyes met and I smiled at him warmly. Startled, he turned away.

"This way, please, miss."

I ran forward and linked hands with Miss Penelope while looking around curiously. The mansion was big and encompassing and the familiar dread began to creep up within me.

"Miss Penelope, what will we do here?"

She sighed, fanning herself with a small handkerchief. "Heaven knows, Daisy. Your father's choice to bring us to these barbarians' land was the worst decision." She stroked my golden hair fondly making sure to not tip my hat off my head. "Daisy, I worry that you will become tainted - the world is not a pleasant place."

I stared confused. "Miss Penelope, I believe the world is a wonderful place! There are so many people and so many places. You can go anywhere and everywhere and still there would be much to explore!"

She sighed back at me looking a little crestfallen, before turning to address the boy. "Nonsense, girl. Do not argue back. You there! Do you intend to stand there eavesdropping on our conversation? You barbarians need to learn your place!"

I stared shocked as a taller man dressed in a pressed red uniform came forward and slapped the small boy hard across the face. Our suitcases tumbled and Miss Penelope cried in horror.

"What have you done! You broke everything!" I was surprised to see that she addressed the small boy lying on his side instead of the man. Her parasol which had been sitting uselessly on her shoulder was now being used to poke the tiny boy in the stomach.

The officer stepped forward extending a hand to Miss Penelope's gloved hand. "If you may, miss, I can handle this. This boy will be trained so that such incident does not happen." Taking the butt of his gun, he struck the boy hard against his face. I simultaneously passed out as a flourish of blood landed on my tiny shoes.

* * *

I was shaken awake by the thunderstorm that struck later that night. Shadows danced in the room and I instinctively cowered in my bed wondering if the man in the red coat was going to come and get me too. That little boy had done absolutely nothing wrong, yet he had been beaten severely. I swallowed nervously and remembered all the times I had been mischievous - perhaps for a lot more serious things!

Regardless of all the incidents that had occurred today, I had one thing on my mind. That boy was around my age and the area around this mansion extended to that beautiful valley. Tomorrow was not a day to sit in and learn, but a day to explore and make new friends. With a strong resolution and a big smile, I dreamt of running in the grass with daisies stroking my arms.

* * *

"Hello there!"

The boy with a large black eye stared at me while running a curry comb through the horse's black coat. It shined beautifully in the sun, but I was still weary of the horse so I stood slightly away from it's daunting mouth.

The boy however seemed to be scared of me, for he immediately began to pack the material in a bucket and looked ready to bolt. How uncouth of him! How was I to befriend him if he would bolt each time we would meet eyes?

"Stop! Do not walk away from me." I commanded, stepping in front of him with my arms outstretched wide and legs wide apart. The hem of my dress was already dirtied and I was in for an earful from Miss Penelope, but I was beyond caring now.

"Miss, what do you need?" He mumbled slowly, an accent prominent in his voice. It sounded refreshing and less rigid from the posh English I had heard for as long as I could remember. He was staring straight at his dirtied slippers, his small toes peeking out.

I huffed and placed my hands on my waist. "Why will you not look at me? Is it the black eye? I..." I hesitated, placing my hand on his tiny cheek. "I am sorry you got hurt. That man in the redcoat was scary, was he not?"

He jerked away from me looking stung and surprised. What on earth was wrong with this boy? I had not slapped him accidentally, had I? Or maybe touching someone's cheek was considered rude in this side of the world?

He looked around nervously. "Miss, you can't be seen here! Not with me!"

"Why ever not?" I asked, confused. "It is fine if you are a servant here. I had friends in the servant's block in my mansion back home too!"

"This not the same." He sighed, swiping his hand across the black eye. "I'm not like you or the elder miss from yesterday."

I nodded, understanding him instantly. "Why, of course you are not. No one is ever the same! You are shorter than me slightly. You are not scared of horses, but I am. Oh, oh and yes! You can carry two suitcases whereas I cannot even pick one up easily!"

He stared at me quietly, before turning away amused. "Miss, afraid you don't understand. I don't understand myself either."

Understand what? Was this boy calling me stupid? The nerve of him! Oh, but I must not get angry - I wanted to be friends with him and maybe he could show me the valley which I had been staring at all morning from the balcony today.

"I am not really fussed about the small details! What I would really like to know is your name, young sir!" I smiled, curtsying elegantly, although my dirty hem probably ended up making me look silly.

He dropped the bucket and took a deep bow, a perfect right angle. "The name is Ezekiel, miss. At your humble service."

I giggled, grabbing his hand which he had placed on his chest and shaking it with a good vigour. "Pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Zeke! I am Daisy Lee, daughter of Charles Lee."

He drew back his hand gently, which I realised was small and cold. He also seemed frail and slightly tired and the black eye gave him a rather spent look. I was worried about Zeke. Maybe what he required at this instant was not a new name to remember, but medicine. I was going to fetch it for him, I thought determined. Instructing him to continue with his chores, I ran inside the mansion past Miss Penelope who was too busy managing the restoration of the rooms and asked our doctor for medicine to heal skin wounds such as a black eye. He seemed curious to know why, but I told him I was interested in the art of healing and he was handing over the vial instantly. I was a good liar it seemed, I thought smug as I returned to Zeke.

Zeke was not only small and quiet, but also rather humble and hesitant. He refused the medicine many times before I ordered him to take it and use it. The next time I would see him would be without a trace of a black eye and the day he finally agreed to take me sightseeing towards the valley. We planned a quiet day when Miss Penelope would head to Boston and the man in red coat would accompany her - they seemed to have taken quite a liking to each other, I thought. Or maybe Miss Penelope was rather listless and needed a companion; just the way I needed Zeke.

* * *

"Oh Zeke, but we only just arrived! And the valley is right there!" I pointed at the grey rock while jumping excitedly. He shook his head hurriedly in response, his eyes darting left to right while he tugged on my arm none too gently.

"Please miss, we leave now." The afternoon sun shone on his skin making him look even more ghostly than usual. It only added to the fact that Zeke really was not brave. But I was not a coward - I had wished to visit this valley two weeks ago when I arrived and now to leave when it was in my touching range was absolutely absurd!

"I will not leave Zeke! Miss Penelope is not expected back till later in the evening. Oh, you must not fret, you will get a wrinkly forehead!" I stroked his soft skin on his forehead and he drew back; his face a surprising red. He looked distracted enough for me to bolt in my dress up towards the valley and the view I saw was the second time I fell in love.

A small flock of deer were grazing near the river. A distant music - traditional music (maybe) was being played in the background. And the trees, oh those majestic green trees were so pretty and provided a great shade to stroll beneath them. I had just kissed Paradise, but I had to taste it or I would forever regret it.

"Miss please! We can't be here!"

"Oh, but Zeke, you must see this! There are people living across this valley! Can you not hear the singing? Maybe a festival - we can go see it and no one will-"

"Miss!" He reprimanded harshly, grabbing my hand which was resting on the rock. "Forgive me, but we leave now." I stared into his brown eyes and realised that Zeke was not going to budge this time. It was the same look that Miss Penelope, Father and my elderly butler had given me too. Funny how people were similar after all, but Zeke would probably not agree.

"Who are you?" A cold voice startled us from behind the valley and we both let out a cry. Zeke recovered quickly because he was shielding me completely from the view of the voice. I groaned internally. Oh Zeke, why must you always be so cautious?

"We didn't trespass." Zeke defended truthfully, his voice shaky and meek. I stepped away from behind him and met the eyes of a boy much taller than Zeke and I.

He was dressed strange and was slightly fairer than Zeke yet he seemed in much better health than many children I had seen working in my mansion. He wore a necklace which drew my attention instantly. It was rather ugly looking, not shiny at all and very unattractive - small, sharp rock looking objects were tied with a string. His hair was shiny and black, just like the horse Zeke spent extra time currying to. But one thing that stood out the most was the hard look in the eyes of the boy. I had never seen a child of my age look so brave and frightening - I was very intimidated to befriend this boy, yet the idea of an opportunity lost was more depressing.

Grabbing Zeke's hand for comfort, I drew him into a bow while I simultaneously curtsied. "We are sorry to have caused you any discomfort. My name is Daisy Lee and this is Zeke. We live in that mansion nearby." I turned around and pointed to the land below - the mansion looking very tiny.

"And are you lost?" He asked eyeing us suspiciously, the small knife glinting from the edge of his pocket. I gulped and met eyes with Zeke who seemed lost for words.

"Well not precisely," I said, but quickly added more after his stance became more rigid. "I wanted to explore the land and Zeke accompanied me. I want to see the festival happening on the other side of the valley!"

Surely being honest with this boy had to be the best policy. Lying never proved fruitful anyway, I thought remembering the medicine incident where I had spouted lies after lies to the doctor. Hopefully nothing bad would come out of it.

"Festival?" He looked confused, turning to stare at the quiet land behind him; the sound of music present, but faint. He then turned and stared at us again. "There is no festival taking place there. You heard wrong."

"Yes we did," Zeke commented, taking my arm and rushing towards the steps of the valley. "Come on now, miss." I shook him off and ran back to the curious boy who was still staring at us.

"May we come next time when the festival is running in full spirits?" I asked excitedly, clasping my hands together in a desperate plea. "It seems lively and maybe you can come to a tea party afterwards and we can be friends!"

"Miss!" Zeke cried, horrified. I ignored him and did not remove my gaze from the tan boy's.

"You cannot come back here again." The boy warned; the knife in his hands. I stepped back fearful of him and a flash of regret crept in his eyes. Zeke was now pulling me back with full strength and we were now very close to the bottom.

"Your name!" I cried, clutching at a rock's edge to dispel my friend's efforts. "May I at least know your name?"

"Miss, you are pushing it!" Zeke shrieked, with fistfuls of my pink dress.

The tan boy stared in silence before taking a step closer to us. It was the first time I saw him move and it was quiet - like a leopard waiting to strike. With careful deliberation, he quietly uttered.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton."


	2. Reluctant Friend

_Radoonhagaa?_

 _Radrahohogon?_

 _Ratoonhagay?_

I sighed for the umpteenth time as I crossed out another name which I had scribbled down a few seconds ago. What a crisis this was! I had made friends with a boy from the valley and was due to visit him soon (although it was a bit rude considering he never invited me to come back) and here I couldn't even remember his name! And Zeke had to leave for town on the same day I had planned to bake crumpets and small macaroons to take back to the valley. Now, Zeke was not expected back till the weekend and I was beyond impatient. But it would not be too discourteous as Zeke had been reluctant to ever go exploring with me again, I sighed dejected.

A small knock on the door alerted me and I hurriedly hid my parchment and quill in the wooden drawer before voicing permission to enter. A dark skinned maid with a Southern accent kindly told me that the food was ready to be packed. I grinned happily and hopped down to the kitchen where all the materials had been set out. What a shame, I contemplated staring at the beautiful pink macaroons that Zeke would miss out on such delicacies. My mouth watered unintentionally and I was tempted to sink my teeth into the small cakes, but then I remembered that this was for Radrahohogon. Or was it Ratrahagay? I would just have to ask him to repeat his name till I had it etched in memory.

After reassuring the maids that I was having a picnic nearby with a friend from another mansion down the path, they reluctantly let me go insisting that they would be happy to accompany me. As if that was even an option, I brooded missing Zeke's presence more than I cared to admit aloud. Zeke had his responsibilities to go into town and gather materials for whatever he did in that stable. But at least he was free to go anywhere whereas I had always been the sheltered child. Miss Penelope would have her nerves fried if she saw me stomping up the valley; my hair sticking to my forehead from sweat and my shoes stubbed and tainted a slight green from the grass. But I had studied her schedule a few days ago and I realised that the man in the red coat would always ask Miss Penelope to accompany him on Fridays, thus Fridays would be mine and _Raton's_ and maybe even Zeke's if he wished to be included.

The sound of flute and drums was finally becoming more prominent and I released a shaky breath of relief that I didn't get lost. To be honest, the whole affair of visiting the valley boy had been unsettling without Zeke, but I had to show courage otherwise friendships would never form and I would forever be stuck in the mansion with only history books to accompany me.

My trail of thought was cut off as I tripped and went tumbling on to the sharp rocks. My eyes watered with pain, but I was shocked to see the basket of food land on top of a figure lying nearby with his eyes closed. His eyes were already opened and he watched me carefully while occasionally passing glances at the basket as if it was to explode. I giggled at this silly expression on his face and he frowned disapprovingly.

"I thought I told you to not come back." He sat up and pushed the basket aside gently. The contents in it shook and I hurriedly snatched it before all my efforts went to waste.

I nodded remembering him mentioning that, but I could not be straightforward with him like last time for it had not yielded satisfying results. I was not to remind him that I wanted to see the civilisation past the valley for he would turn me away instantly. Instead I beamed at him slyly. "You told me your name last time, but when I went back to my mansion I could not recall it! So please, Raton, can you say your name again?"

He glared openly. "Raton?" Spluttering in disbelief, he eyed the basket again. "And this basket must be an apology for forgetting my name, I presume?"

I twirled my blonde lock hesitantly. "Well, not exactly. It is a tradition that we must bring gifts to the people we visit."

"No thank you," he refused, lying back down; an arm thrown across his eyes to shelter the sun's rays.

I huffed in anger. "You are boorish and ungracious! I have brought you food that you would otherwise never have the chance to eat and you refuse me so straightforwardly!" Stomping my feet I kicked a small pebble and it him in the arm. Instantly, he was standing so fast that I nearly fell backwards on my side of the valley. How frightening!

"Do not call me boorish when you have turned up here despite not being welcomed. Turn back now or I will use force." He edged a small knife out of his sleeve as if to make a point. But this time I was not as frightened like before. He was only slightly taller than me and he had to be my age. Children my age could not use a knife or force like he said he could. He was all talk, I decided smugly sitting down and smoothing the creases of my dress.

He stood in front of me then, confused. "Are you deaf girl? Go away."

"No." I stated, pulling out a pink macaroon and eating it with great relish. "I have not tres . . . trespassed! I am not on my side of the valley, but neither am I on yours. Therefore, I shall stay!"

He looked fractious and at lost for words. I grinned and picked another macaroon and this time, his stomach let out a loud growl. I turned up to see him turning away hurriedly, his face a deep red and his hand rubbing his stomach gently. I made sure to chew loudly on my macaroon this time and soon he was openly staring at the basket with hunger prevalent in his eyes. After I had reached my fifth macaroon, he finally snapped in anger and stood in front of me once again.

"Is it not bad manners to eat without offering others too?" He hissed, his hands at his sides in tight fists. I offered him a macaroon then and although he stared at it as if it was not food, he still took a hesitant bite and chewed. Then he was wolfing down the contents of my basket while I stared at his profile engrossed. Raton had terrible eating habits, I noted, but he was extremely pleasing to the eye. I blushed and grabbed a few flowers from the grass and unconsciously began to weave a small daisy chain while trying my hardest to not stare at the boy any longer.

Soon after when he was done stuffing himself, he turned to me looking intensely flustered. His cheeks were red again and a small bead of sweat was running down the side of his face while his hands fiddled with the blades of grass. My heart stopped when I met eyes with him and to rid off the awkwardness, I fixed the daisy chain on his head tittering manically. He looked cute with a daisy chain on his head even though his outfit was rather puzzling and unlike anything I had seen before.

"What are you doing?" He questioned, removing the daisy chain from his head and studying it carefully. "What is this anyway?"

"It's a daisy chain!" I gasped at his outlandish behaviour. "How are you not aware of what a daisy chain is?"

He harrumphed. "I have no need for such things."

I pouted, moving to sit on my knees. "But it's a present! Daisy Lee is giving you a daisy chain so that you may never forget my name! You should give me something too so that I may never forget your name, Raton!"

"Stop calling me Raton!" He was standing now and looked ready to leave.

The nerve of this boy! He had ate all my lunch, stomped on my daisy chain and was leaving without telling me his name. Why must he be so difficult? Were all boys so horrid and mean? I shook my head as I remembered kind Zeke who had continued being my friend despite the fact that I never listened to him.

Before he could bolt, I grabbed his hand tightly. "You will not leave until I can say your name!"

He shook me off looking vexed. " _Otsinò:wen_ , let me go!"

"No!" I jerked him harder until he was no longer on his edge of the valley. I must have tugged him too hard for he was falling towards me and I was tumbling down to the ground. My back screamed in pain and soon I could not breathe as a heavy boulder landed on top of me. The pain and the lack of oxygen was enough to send me wailing. Tears leaked out of my eyes even when the mass lifted and the pain ceased. I realised then that I had many reasons to cry for; Zeke was gone and I was lonely, Father was gone and I was lonely, Miss Penelope was gone and I was lonely and Raton was a horrible person.

"Don't cry! Don't cry!" I felt myself being lifted from the ground till I was no longer staring at the blinding sun, but at the boy who looked agitated. A wide range of emotions in flashed on his face as he poked my forehead incessantly. "Did you hurt your head? Can you see me? How many fingers?" He held up a hand of two fingers in my face.

I blinked and shoved his hand away. I had lost count on how many times I had felt extreme anger for this boy, but I cared not to stay enough and provoke myself further. Crawling away on my knees, I moved to step down the valley when I felt a tug on my moss green dress.

"I am sorry." He whispered, his eyes looking anything but cold like earlier. They shone earnestly like beautiful onyx gems and I blushed furiously again. It was not enough to soothe my anger though and I wrenched my dress out of his grasp, glaring.

"You are not forgiven!" I declared, grabbing my basket and jumping to my side of the valley. "I will not visit you again! You are a terrible person and Zeke was absolutely right!"

Treading heavily down the valley, I did not turn around again. I never intended to come back here again, I decided. Being insulted and rebuffed continuously had taken a toll on me. Zeke and I were enough for each other, I thought frowning at the memory of sad black eyes.

* * *

The next few days were spent in a monotonous fashion. I would rise and bathe, attend my history lessons and then play with the horses with Zeke in the stable. The days became tediously boring and soon I had explored all the area surrounding the mansion with my companion. I had also told him of my encounter with the valley boy and how he had been right all along about him. Zeke did not look smug at all and instead was concerned about my injured back. He was my true, true friend, I decided contentedly.

So a week after the incident when Zeke came hurrying down the path that led up to valley looking half dead, I was truly frightened. What if the valley boy had attacked Zeke in retribution because I had called him a terrible person? The thought was enough to freeze me to the core, but Zeke was already speaking regardless of whether I was listening or not.

"He was there! The valley boy was there, Miss!" He cried, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his sleeve. "He saw me and pinned me to the ground! He said that he had been waiting a week for you to come and visit!"

The arrogance of that brute!

I fist my hands angrily to my sides. "I told him I would not be returning! How dare he make demands from you?"

Zeke looked conflicted. "Miss, he said that he was sorry and that you-"

"Nonsense!" I cut him off, grabbing him by the shoulders. "He was rude and uncouth! He ate my food and did not even say thank you! I asked him for his name, but he tried to run away! Not to mention the last time he threatened us with a knife!"

Zeke winced stepping out of my clutches. "But miss, you did visit him without an invite. Surely that is most rude."

I gasped in horror. "Zeke! You are my friend, not his!" Crossing my arms in offence, I saw him shuffling his feet uncomfortably.

"Miss, I wouldn't say anything unfair." he rubbed his neck gently. "But if he has been waiting a week, he must really be sorry."

I looked at the valley sceptically. "He is probably just saying that!"

Zeke said no more and I sighed in defeat. Why did he always have to be right? Zeke was much wiser and calmer than I and he probably would make a very good negotiator, I thought as we began trudging up the valley. With a start, reality hit me that I was turning up to visit someone without a gift, but then I remembered how awful he was anyway so he deserved nothing but an earful. Also, he had a lot to answer for especially as to why he had Zeke pinned down.

Before we had even climbed half way up the valley, I spotted him standing very still. He was observing us silently, but already he looked red faced and guilty. Of course, he would be culpable after what he had done to Zeke! I did not continue on with Zeke and instead ran forward right into the valley boy, shoving him hard.

"How dare you! You threatened Zeke!" I yelled, sitting on top of his chest as he lay writhing under me. I slammed a fist down hard and he did not even flinch. Seeing red then, I was pounding hard on his chest repeatedly. "Speak, you hooligan!"

"Miss, no!" Zeke plucked me off the jerk and sat me down near the ground. The delinquent charged to his feet and shifted away.

I watched as he shook his head, his black hair swishing from left to right and catching the sunlight. "I didn't threaten your friend! I asked him about your whereabouts."

Zeke nodded and I scowled at him. Was he going to disagree with everything I said or did today? The heat from the sun was getting to me and I breathed evenly keeping my eyes trained everywhere but at _him._ He was dressed in the same fashion again today, I noticed eyeing him from my peripheral vision. Maybe the people behind the valley were not up to the current trends otherwise no one would dress like that! If we had been on speaking terms, maybe I would have gifted him a nice pair of trousers.

"I am . . . I am really sorry!" Raton or whatever implored stepping forward. "When I went back home _that_ day, I realised that I had been wrong. My kind . . . we . . . do not get along with the outsiders very well."

His kind? Were we not all of the same kind? But then again if they hid behind the valley and let no one come to visit them, of course they would not get along very well with the outsiders. Raton was a perfect example of this.

I turned to look at Zeke who was intently focused on the boy, however Raton had his eyes fixated on me. I blushed slightly at the attention, but did not look away urging him silently to continue on.

"What I am trying to say is . . . that I am not like you!" He finished, frustrated.

Silence ensued us and the music behind the valley that previously soothed me was now a reminder that Raton was different. His people played music everyday - there had never been a festival. He wore different clothes from everyone I had seen and spoke words which I had never heard before. Also, he carried a knife and I was not even allowed to cut a cake using a kitchen knife. I looked at Zeke then and remembered our first conversation - he had claimed to be different too, but I had never seen any distinction between him and I. So was there really something there that set us apart? Something that would never let us become friends?

"You're wrong."

Astounded at the fact that it was my friend who spoke, Raton and I were both fixed on Zeke who stood resolute and rigidly in front of the other boy. It was the first time Zeke had shown pluck much different from my earlier meetings where he would say little to none.

The birds around us chattered and the music grew to a crescendo before evening out to a synchronised hum of drums. The breeze took the stray leaves with it as if it was taking any vestiges of animosity that had been prevalent between us. I focused on Zeke again seeing more than a weak boy, instead someone who would go on to become much more.

"Before I met young miss, I felt the same. All my life, I had never been treated kindly - hated for who I was . . . for reasons I could not understand. The only kindness I had ever received was from the animals I tended to. Until, I met young miss. She hounded me and I was scared of her . . ."

He paused meeting my eyes and then smiled, embarrassed. I pouted, plucking blades of grass and fiddling with them uncomfortably.

"Yet she was kind and only sought friendship with me. It was the first time, I was treated like an equal." He sighed, sitting down next to me, his eyes still fixed on Raton. "You may be different than us, but to young miss it would not matter. That's why even when you frightened her on our first meeting, she still came back to visit you."

Raton said nothing more and left without a word.

Zeke sighed and turned to me, his eyes sad and defeated. "Forgive me, miss. My words could not reach him."

I hugged him sadly. He should never feel guilty. Not being friends with Raton or being unable to see past the valley was not the end of the world. I was content on having the greatest friend in the world.

"We should go now," I said, turning to look once last time past the forbidden side of the valley. Smoke was rising slowly from the distant cottages and the music was no longer audible. The flock of deer were travelling away from us and the whole atmosphere was melancholy. I could stand there no longer for I feared I would burst in tears. I had already fallen in love with this sight and Raton . . . I had seen him as a friend before he had started being mean.

"Miss, there is much to see in the world." Zeke promised, taking my hand in his own and squeezing gently. "Places that would welcome you with a warm heart."

I smiled, squeezing his hand back. "As long as you will be there, I shall have great pleasure seeing them."

"No need." A familiar voice behind us spoke. We jumped and turned to stare at Raton, his hands holding a small platter. It was food.

I grinned excited at the strange dish and also the significance it held. Raton was offering us food - he had accepted us as his friends!

"Is that for us?" I exclaimed stepping forward, my hands outstretched. "What is it?"

He nodded, blushing furiously. "It's called a _wojapi._ It's made with blueberries. These are fry breads. You dip them in and eat it together." He looked away from me. "It's not as pretty as the food you gave me last week and maybe it won't taste good to you, but . . . my mother made it and -"

"Nonsense!" I cried, stepping forward and snatching the platter from his hands. "I will like it! I love blueberries!" Dipping a greasy fry bread, I stuffed it in my mouth chewing at a speed of a mile. Strong flavours exploded in my mouth and I could taste nothing, but wild blueberries. The fry bread itself tasted sweet like honey, something I never had before. I grabbed another one before remembering Zeke and handed him one eagerly.

"Try it Zeke! It is most delicious!" I had already had three and Zeke had another one before we met eyes with Raton. He was smiling happily and for the first time he seemed just like us. Young and free.

* * *

 **Apologies for butchering Connor's name multiple times, but I tried to keep it realistic in mind for a 4 year old child. This story takes place a few months before Connor's village was burnt down. Connor, Daisy and Zeke are all 4 years old although I'd say Connor is a few months older than Daisy and Zeke is probably a few months younger than her.**

 **Terminology:**

 _Otsinò:wen: a word in Mohawk language meaning mouse. I am not aware if this can be used as an insult, but I decided to use it anyway._

 _Wojapi: A Mohawk desert. Thick berry sweet dish commonly eaten with fry breads._

 **Once again, thank you very much for reading. ⊂二二二（ ＾ω＾）二⊃**


	3. Fire and Feathers

After many weeks of visiting the boy on the valley, I had finally learned the correct pronunciation of his name. While my tongue still managed to slip sometimes while pronouncing his name, I found that the name came much more easier to me than the first time I had been privileged to hear it. Zeke too had mastered it and well before me, it seemed.

I looked up at the snow covered trees and huddled closer to the small fire that Ratonhnhaké:ton had masterfully created. It had surprised me that he was able to do many things that I only ever saw the older, powerful men do. While it perplexed me, sometimes even frightened me, I knew better than to doubt a friend. There were many things that were different about him, but those were the same things that kept me coming back to him.

"What is the matter?" The boy who occupied my thoughts, asked. His hazel eyes shone with genuine concern, the stick he was using to poke at the fire held suspended midair.

I grinned beatifically. "Nothing at all!" I glanced at the feathers that poked out from his clothes and realised that I had never noticed their existence before. "Raton! I never gathered you liked feathers so much! If you had told me, I would have brought you some chicken feathers from home - there are so many lying around!"

He looked miffed. "Chicken feathers will not do justice." With his nimble fingers, he abandoned the twig and plucked a brown feather and held it out to me. "This is a feather of an eagle - a very special eagle per se."

"Oh?" I cocked my head in slight confusion. Chicken feathers, eagle feathers or peacock feathers. They were all feathers in the end and if their purpose were to be ornaments then I was sure that chicken feathers were much more prettier than the ones he wore. I quickly grabbed the feather as he began to retract his hand, his face carrying hints of rejection.

I smiled toothily. "How precious! I will treasure this feather for years and years to come!" I shuffled closer to him shyly, the ruffles on my shoulder brushing with his bare arm. "And, if I see the special eagle I will take all of its feathers for you."

"I do not want the poor animal skinned alive," he snorted, picking up the twig and poking the fire again. My head automatically turned to view his beautiful profile; his eyes that now sparkled with happiness, his cheeks that blossomed red and the hints of smile that peeked in the shadows. I wished then, that this moment would never end.

* * *

The smoke that rose from behind the valley reached my nose and I sneezed gently, walking away from the backyard to the stable where Zeke stood. I expected him to be brushing the horses or washing the dishes with the other servants, but he like many other men and women in the courtyard was staring at the valley.

Anxiety set in my heart as I flew towards the familiar boy and stumbled, but landed securely in his arms and it was only then that he turned to look at me. The expression he wore did not calm the growing unease in my heart and I clutched at his tattered and brown shirt for comfort.

"Zeke, what is wrong?" I inquired, looking at the valley. "Why is everyone looking at the valley?"

He looked perplexed at my question and pointed at the smoke. "The smoke, miss. 'Tis the smoke that rises out."

I nodded, taking a whiff of the smoke and ignoring the tears that erupted in my eyes from it. "Yes, I know that, Zeke. Raton's people must be cooking a great feast, I presume." Something about my own words unsettled me and I realise now that I was only protecting myself from the terrible words that Zeke next spoke.

"No, miss! The village - the boy on the valley's village has been set alight!"

The next few moments were a blur. I had ripped myself from the safe embrace of my friend and had rushed up the familiar path that was so well known to me. The smoke had hit me in full force then and I felt painful burns that engulfed me from within, but the agony mattered little. I only saw the figure that stood at the valley, his hand outstretched crying out to me, but a giant fireball came from behind and swept him away, leaving nothing, but a hot gust of air and one feather that fell out from the sky.

* * *

 **I know I haven't updated in a long time and for that I really do apologise. This is a very small update, but I'll try and write longer chapters. The next chapter may or may not be a time skip. Thank you for reading. Have an amazing day!**


	4. Goodbye Forever

**_All italicised speech is characters speaking in Mohawk language._**

* * *

 _The day, 1760_

Ratonhnhaké:ton stared at the beautiful book that his new friend had given him and ran his small fingers across the words. Although he had refused many times, he found that Daisy Lee was a girl whom he could not win against. And even though her intrusion at first had annoyed him greatly, he now looked forward to every fifth day of the week when he would see her tumbling down his side of the valley, her hair so golden and eyes like the summer sky. A small smile crept on his face and he continued to read quietly in the dim light of the longhouse.

The words did not come easy to him as his own language did, but he understood the plot. A young girl leaves her home in search for the Eden on Earth, but instead runs into a lot of trouble. Eventually, she comes to realise that paradise wasn't anywhere else - it was in her own home, but she failed to appreciate it. Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded in agreement to the moral of the book as he dog-eared a page, but then quickly smoothed it out. He did not want the book ruined - it was precious to him and-

 _"Ratonhnhaké:ton! What are you doing?"_

He quickly found the book dropping from his small hands and he kicked it under the table gently, but with a guilty heart nonetheless. His mother would get mad if she were to know of his interactions with people from across the valley, but he hated having to treat an invaluable gift in such a manner. It was the first time he had received a gift from anyone and he most certainly did not expect it to be from a white girl. But then again, Daisy Lee was not just any girl . . .

He turned around to the sight of his mother's suspicious eyes and protective stance. _"Good morning, mother."_ He greeted with slight apprehension as she stared him up and down. His mother was firm, but kind and gentle too and Ratonhnhaké:ton promised himself he would one day tell his mother of Daisy Lee. Maybe even introduce her and her peculiar, silent friend, Ezekiel.

 _"Hmm, and what have you been up to?"_ She asked again, her black hair shining from the light of the fire that crackled nearby. Her eyes held a little amusement and a little endearment as she viewed the small child in front of her. His eyes darted around as he fumbled for excuses, and only the Faceless One knew how similar he looked to his father in that moment. She almost wished Haytham was aware of his existence, but many promises and commitments bounded her. And their differences . . . they could never be together indefinitely.

 _"Ratonhnhaké:ton! Come play with us! The others have gone hunting and we are bored!"_ A small, chubby boy cried from the entrance of the longhouse, his eyes fixed stubbornly on his friend and not his mother. Ratonhnhaké:ton's mother could be frightening at times, but then again so was the Clan Mother and many elders too. Kanen'tó:kon found himself growing hungrier again as fear from the elders crept in his heart and he wished Ratonhnhaké:ton would hurry up already.

The boy in question crept around his mother, his face still upturned towards her, silently demanding permission. She sighed and with a warning of not crossing the valley, allowed him to go. But as Ratonhnhaké:ton followed his friends slowly, he realised that his mother's warnings had come far too late. He may never get to cross the valley, but he would always wait for the courageous yellow hair who would.

* * *

 _"Ratonhnhaké:ton, you are too boring today,"_ Kanen'tó:kon remarked, as he huffed up the slope of the valley, his face a bright red from exertion. A quick glance at the brooding, silent boy showed that he had no problem keeping up with the others and was barely out of breath. But he was also not as cheerful as Kahionhaténion and Teiowí:sonte, the two brothers who absolutely loved hide and seek. Whatever was up with him now?

 _"It is nothing, Kanen'tó:kon. Are you well?"_ Ratonhnhaké:ton slowed his pace down slightly for his stout friend and patted him on his back. _"Nearly there . . ."_

The chubby boy nodded, his words coming out in a wheeze. _"Are you upset because we have come far from the valley? You wanted to play there instead, Ratonhnhaké:ton?"_

The boy in question stopped dead in his tracks, his thoughts too coming to a halt. He had made sure no one had followed him whenever he would visit his _guests,_ but it seemed that Kanen'tó:kon had decided to follow him. How else could he have known that he would rather be at the valley right now than anywhere else?

 _"Kanen'tó:kon, it seems that spirits have started visiting you. Why else would you ask a question that comes out of thin air?"_

The boy grinned in delight as if he was aware of a secret that no one else knew. _"But the question hasn't come from thin air! It came from behind the valley . . ."_

Ratonhnhaké:ton had slammed the chubby boy on the trunk of a nearby tree as soon as those words had left his tongue. A quick glance behind him told him that the two brothers had gone far ahead and it was only then did he finally turn to the smug, but slightly frightened boy. _"Kanen'tó:kon, you will not speak of this to anyone."_

 _"Of course, my friend! I haven't as of yet - I have no intention to!"_ The boy cried, his hands pushing at the stronger boy's firm chest, his own stomach grumbling in hunger and it was only then did Ratonhnhaké:ton stepped away. He sighed guiltily and patted him on the stomach, the malice having gone from his actions.

 _"Come on, the sooner we can finish this game, the sooner we can eat."_

* * *

 _"I need to save mother! Mother! Mother!"_ the young boy cried, thrashing in the arms of the elder who cradled him to his chest. His heart ached for the boy who was suffering and for his mother who had suffered so much and had only found relief for a few short years. Ratonhnhaké:ton, it seemed had been also destined for the same fate, but the elder silently prayed his words and visions to be wrong. He stroked the boy's hair and watched from his peripheral vision as Kanen'tó:kon rushed over to the aid of his friend.

 _"What has happened? Ratonhnhaké:ton!"_ A quick shake of the head from the elder silenced the plump boy and he stood watching simply as his stoic friend wept in the man's arms. Kanen'tó:kon had rushed into the burning longhouse in which Ratonhnhaké:ton and his mother resided in search for his own parents and had found a book hidden under the table. No one here had access to such things and he had known instantly that it came from beyond the valley. He kept the obtrusively large book hidden in the front of his shirt and sighed in relief when Ratonhnhaké:ton finally withdrew and stopped crying.

After all the surviving members of the village had been accounted for; they sat staring at their homes being burned to the ground. The smell of the burning wood and flesh caused a fresh onslaught of tears for some and anger for others. But Kanen'tó:kon kept his eyes trained on his friend who expressed neither emotions. There was simply . . . emptiness. Nothing bothered Kanen'tó:kon more than this and he pulled out the book from the front of his shirt hoping to see a flicker of emotion on his friend's face. Anything would be better than what he was seeing now.

The disengaged boy gazed simply at the book, but a small light had returned in his amber eyes. The fire danced in them reflecting pain, but also recognition and acceptance of what had occurred. Kanen'tó:kon silently thanked the Faceless One for returning his friend back to him and felt his heart rip in two when the boy hugged the book to his chest, the tears flowing down his wet cheeks again.

 _"Ratonhnhaké:ton . . ."_ Kanen'tó:kon wrapped his round arm around his friend's bony shoulders and watched as the boy opened the book. And each time the tears would fall on the pages, the boy would wipe them away hurriedly as if afraid that he would lose something precious to him again. He continued to flick the pages, ignoring the weeping women and the sound of burning wood and even Kanen'tó:kon himself.

But after some time, the boy watched the final page with pure anguish. The words that were not written in the same print as the book danced in the shadows. The words that had been penned down by his mother . . .

 _"Follow the moral of the book, Ratonhnhaké:ton and you shall never lose your way."_

* * *

 ** _So, I update again! :D I really like writing Connor and also Kanen'tó:kon! I tried to keep them both in character, but apologies if they seem OOC. Once again, thanks a ton for reading! Good day! 3_**


	5. Lonely and Lost

_All italicised speech is Connor and his clan members conversing in Mohawk._

* * *

 _1769, Mohawk Valley_

 _"When I was five, they came to my village._

 _They took our land._

 _Slaughtered my mother._

 _But they made one mistake - they left me alive."_

Ratonhnhaké:ton looked up from his journal entry; his neat cursive handwriting an indication of the effort he had made in his academics. His mother always endeavoured in this quest, never wanting him to be more disadvantaged than his already incidental heritage as a half-breed Native American. For him however, it had become a badge of honour - in fact, he often wondered what sort of white man his father must be for his mother's affections to blossom so far that she ended up conceiving a child with him. Yet, despite that he was proud of his people - they had not shunned his mother when she was at her weakest and instead had embraced her back complete with him. He promised then to the spirits in the wind and the silent trees that he would never shun his people.

 _"Ratonhnhaké:ton!"_ Kanen'tó:kon appeared around the corner, his feet shaky and uncertain on the inclined tree log on which the man in question was currently perched upon. His face sweated with anxiety, his eyes flickering from his friend occasionally to the grassy ground below him. A great number of things had changed, but Kanen'tó:kon had clung to the grass like a pestilent weed. Except, for Ratonhnhaké:ton, the boy in front of him was more than that - he had become extremely dear to him in the last few years.

That evening in 1760 still haunted him - he had lost a lot more than just a parent. He had lost direction and companionship too. He had gone from being sheltered and protected to an orphan in an instant. The villagers had coddled him and paid him extra attention for the next few weeks, but eventually everyone had their own families to tend to. It was particularly difficult to be in the vicinity of a happy family like Kanen'tó:kon's without his eyes brimming over with tears and dreadful loneliness creeping in his heart. He would hold the book in which his mother's last message to him remained and would gently trace his fingers over it as his tears would fall dangerously close to the already fading ink. The last words of his mother were also leaving him.

And the owner of the book had never returned. Daisy Lee - the girl who had forced friendship upon him and had given her support in the brightest days of his life had turned her back on him in his darkest. He had waited for her at the valley for months - never missing a Friday and sometimes spending everyday there hoping to see a glimpse of gold and ruffles as she would huff up the valley, but nothing. One day a sudden terrifying thought had permeated his brain about the well-being of his female friend and he had crossed into her side of the valley, tumbling down the rocks on the wrong side for the first time. The white mansion in which she had addressed as home was barren - nothing, but stray hay littered the place with the white paint slightly peeling. Nothing lifelike remained - no horses, no workers - no Daisy . . .

Losing someone this time didn't make him cry. Instead, it had made him focused.

 _"Oh friend! I looked for you everywhere . . . the longhouse, the river and even the valley!"_

The thirteen year old grimaced involuntarily, looking down _. "The valley? I haven't been there since . . . since . . . you know what."_ He whispered the last part very quietly to mask the burning anguish still present in his heart. Great things may come his way, but they would never fill the hole that those men had etched in his heart. He wouldn't forgive and he wouldn't forget.

 _"I have great news for you, Ratonhnhaké:ton!"_ The chubby adolescent cried, his arms gesturing wildly and the bright smile on his face indicating to him that Kanen'tó:kon hadn't picked up his earlier discomfort. _"Clan Mother has requested you for a special meeting after the Great Feather Dance! Ratonhnhaké:ton, they say that she has a present for you!"_

The boy looked away simply. He couldn't pretend to even be mildly curious at what Clan Mother had in store for him, but he was grateful nonetheless. It had not been easy for the villagers to get by with the white men oppressing them with injustice upon injustice, but they had never alienated him. Despite his more than questionable heritage that tied him to the enemies, Clan Mother and every single villager gave him the same respect that a Native here received.

 _"Well if it is a present then surely we cannot turn to the ceremony empty handed."_ He stood up swiftly and balanced before stashing his journal into a bird's nest. The longhouse had very limited spots to hide his important things - besides he didn't want anyone invading on his private thoughts, especially since they were filled with those dreadful nightmares he had been having for years now.

Kanen'tó:kon paled at his words. _"What do you have in mind? Oh please, don't say we have to collect feathers again - I really can't today, Ratonhnhaké:ton for I am already feeling quite ill-!"_

 _"Excuses. Unless you have an offering ready to present, Kanen'tó:kon and if not - well I can only imagine whose offering you shall become today."_ The boy chuckled to himself as his friend hurried to his feet and then subsequently plunged face down onto the ground with a crash landing. When he began to moan, Ratonhnhaké:ton teased him again. _"It wasn't even 2 feet - stop crying!"_

* * *

 _1769, Boston_

A large merchant ship was pulled by fishermen and soldiers to assist in docking. It was the second ship that had docked into Boston today and people could feel the atmosphere becoming tense. Soldiers and young boys who were conscripting were being dispatched from England to America to patrol the streets. Average American citizens were disgruntled by their presence and the power and respect that they suddenly demanded. Boston, a city that was once completely militia free had now turned into a resting place for the British regiment.

Daisy Lee sighed tiredly and unaware as she stepped off the ship with a young boy in a redcoat who had offered to carry her heavy trunk for her. She had insisted that she was fine to carry it, but the boy was appalled at the idea that a lady such as herself should be seen doing manual work. She had internally rolled her eyes at his statement - some lady she was for travelling from England to America alone in the first place. The truth was Father had been barely home in the last few years and her loneliness had set in to the point where she had become isolated from the world. Reading books inside a library had become her favourite hobby and the desire to now explore the world frightened her. Her Father had seen her demise - her lack of interest in his travel discussions and the absence of her 'friends' who had stopped paying her pity visits. Hence she was pushed on a ship with a trunk to travel to Boston to meet with her father's contacts while he wrapped his business in Poland.

And now stepping foot on this land, she felt an onslaught of sudden nostalgia tinted with an urgent longing. She had been to Boston very briefly when she was a little girl with her late caretaker, Miss Penelope and it was certainly much barren then than now. Shops were practically everywhere, vendors were screaming at pedestrians to catch their interest and a huge audience of men dressed in redcoats were smiling directly at her consisting of a drummer, a few grenadiers and two scouts. The drummer began the drum roll in tune with her stride and she felt oddly embarrassed when an audience of civilians gathered round to see what the big deal was. She wasn't a big deal, but her father clearly thought otherwise.

"Miss Lee. Oh, it is such a pleasure to see that you have disembarked safely here in Boston. Sir Charles mentioned in his letter that you are prone to sickness on a ship and hence we will not delay you from a well-deserved rest! It's a shame that we cannot show you our sites here in Boston, but a tour can always wait!"

She smiled at the scout awkwardly as the young boy from earlier secured her trunk at the back of a passenger carriage. The scout had seemed rather annoyed that the tour would not be going ahead - no doubt, he had perfected his speech three months ago when she had first stepped foot on the ship. She couldn't help, but feel sorry for him.

"Move along now people! A lady is being escorted here!" The driver would yell occasionally just as she would sink lower into the plush seats to avoid the glares of the pedestrians. Her Father had truly imposed the most severest punishment upon her - he had put her in the spotlight. She only hoped that this new house of hers had an extensive collection of books. Especially books on the Natives . . .

 **I think it was fair to say that this story had been on a hiatus for all this time as I had lost touch with it. But now since AC3 is being remastered and is being released in just over a month's time, it is only fair I give this story the justice it deserved. Also, heartfelt apologies to anyone who is returning to read this chapter.**


	6. Welcomes and Farewells

_1769, Boston_

Stepping into the large white pillared mansion, Daisy Lee looked barely impressed. Instead, there was a cloud of apathy that had overtaken her blue eyes as she surveyed the common sight of black servants mulling about with their excessively difficult work routine and the occasional redcoat patrolling the property here and there. She had grown up with this sight, but had never stopped feeling shocked at the injustices her servants faced. Docking pay for treatment of injuries caused by manual labour and the constant abuse that was hurled their way made her secretly despise her father's subordinates. It reminded her of the time when she would secretly sneak her small companion away to explore the world while the Redcoats weren't looking.

She remembered her own words then - 'There is no difference between you and me.' She had said these words to Zeke once and he had smiled bitterly, his eyes dull with misery. She hadn't understood him then, but she saw now. They were treated different because of their skin colour - an accidental aspect that every human was born with. And now looking back at the insensitivity of her words, she despised herself. No wonder Raton had not liked her presence at the start.

Touching a small feather that was sewed in her dress, she felt her heart clench with absolute anguish. Raton, her dear friend from the world beyond her own had absolutely fascinated her with his words and norms. If she ever ate blueberries, she would remember the wojapi dish that he had once brought to her. If she ever saw an eagle, she would scan the ground in hope that it would drop a feather so she could add it to her massive collection. And if she ever saw a Native, she would pray that never should their village ever face such a calamity. Her Father thought she had lost her mind when every first Friday of the spring, she would try to replicate the wojapi she had once tasted. And each time, the taste would be abysmal that even the cat wouldn't dare lick.

Her collection of feathers had gathered her quite the reputation among her suitors. Many had captured eagles and had presented them to her in a cage. Fury had engulfed her in those moments when she would remember the kind manner in which Raton spoke about animals - the respect that he held for them was unparalleled. So she would take the cage, set the bird free and then would rudely dismiss the suitor. Hence, came about her reputation as a very ungracious lady. No doubt her Father was severely disappointed in her, but he was always kind enough to laugh it off. If only he knew and understood her turmoil.

"Oh hello!" An old lady, the housekeeper, she presumed exclaimed. Her dress was a light pink with slight ruffles and her messy bun had become even more unkempt as she clumsily bowed. Daisy returned the gesture swiftly, her manners for the elderly kicking in immediately. "If I had known young Miss Lee would be arriving so early, I would have definitely welcomed you with a great pomp!"

Daisy shook her head, her own golden curls bouncing with the motion. "Please, it's just Daisy. And there is no need for that. I am quite tired, but thank you for your kind hospitality . . . er, Miss . . .?"

"Oh, it's Missus Leighton, dearie! Agatha Leighton, at your service!" She held her skirt up and did a small courtesy again.

"Pleasure." Daisy replied drily; her blue eyes skimming over to the blue door from where she felt some commotion. Her eyes met the green ones of Mrs Leighton as she smiled uncertainly.

"Dear me, dear me! I wonder what hell has broken loose in my kitchenette!" She cried, strutting forward to the door and throwing it open with a slam. It was not difficult to see past the slim frame of Mrs Leighton when Daisy caught sight of a heavily pregnant woman bent over the box, heaving and her face red as she struggled to pick up the heavy load. Daisy expected it then - the slight tension in Mrs Leighton's back and the way her hands fist around tightly of her ruffled dress. She knew what was coming for the poor woman before the sound of a slap reverberated through the empty mansion.

"How dare you?" She cried, a hand pressed into her chest as if she had been gravely wronged. The young, thirteen year old grimaced - her lips pursed inwards and bruised from her constant, lip biting habit. The last time she had tried to play hero, she had seen what the redcoats had done to the servant. But the anguish and guilt that exploded within her would continue to scar her. The cruelty shown by her own people had become the reason why she had lost every desire to socialise with her kind.

The young girl, perhaps a few years older than her stammered and sniffled. "Am so-so-sorry, ma'am!"

Mrs Leighton responded with a huff as she poked the girl in the leg with the tip of her green, silk satin shoe. "Get out of my sight and send Mary to clean up this mess! And if you think this is all there is to this, then you missy are dead wrong!" Daisy watched as the girl struggled to rise to her feet, her hands using the wall for support and just for a split second their eyes clashed. Pain. Grief. Humiliation. Zeke.

Watching her scramble out the door, a vivid memory of Zeke doing the same came to mind. Miss Penelope and the Redcoat then had taken to abusing Zeke on every occasion they could find. She as a little girl had once had the courage to ask Miss Penelope this and had been reprimanded for being too soft on the 'filthy boy'. She had then told Raton of the behaviour her friend had to endure on a regular basis and the boy had expressed concern, but was also not able to provide a definite answer.

She knew now.

"Good day, Mrs Leighton. Please do not disturb me for the rest of the day." She stated, suddenly calm again and heading towards the stairs.

"Are you sure, Miss Lee?" The housekeeper cried from behind her, sounding more dramatic than concerned. "You seem very pale!"

She didn't bother to reply.

* * *

 _All italicised speech is Mohawk being spoken._

 _1769, Mohawk Valley_

Kanen'tó:kon sniffled loudly behind the oak tree as he watched clan mother Oiá:ner plus all the elders surround Ratonhnhaké:ton to set him off on his journey. Only hours ago, they had been hunting for eagle feathers and taking pelts from deer and now he was all packed up to leave to find the _symbol_. His best friend was leaving him and he didn't even have the courage to face him without crying and dampening the whole farewell ceremony. What a terrible friend he was.

It was only when people began to disperse did he sense a presence behind him - a presence he had come to know and admire over the years.

 _"You will not see me off, Kanen'tó:kon?"_ His smooth voice floated over to him, but with an edge of sadness and Kanen'tó:kon wondered if he was just as sad as him. He felt a nudge and watched his friend perch on the rock next to him, his legs dangling over the edge and the big blue roll containing his belongings dumped to the side.

Kanen'tó:kon sighed loudly, allowing his guilt to become clear. _"Forgive me, old friend. While it should rejoice me that you are setting off on a noble path, I'd be lying to the Faceless One above if I was to say that I am not terribly saddened to see you go."_

 _"It is not a permanent destination, Kanen'tó:kon. I walk this path for it has been ordained for me. But my true destination - the end of the path wherever it may lead me cannot stop me from returning home."_

At his words, Kanen'tó:kon felt his composure break and tears slip out treacherously. _"You say that, friend. But I have seen men from our village leave and never return. It is not the white man that stopped them from coming home, but rather it was their own desires for the world that has brought nothing, but injustice upon our people."_

 _"Had my desires been for the world, I would have set off years ago to find my old friends from beyond the valley."_

Kanen'tó:kon looked up, mildly surprised. _"Find your old friends? The Yellow Hair? You never spoke of her after your mother's . . . forgive me. I merely meant that you were at the valley end all the time so I assumed that you were still being visited?"_

Now it was Ratonhnhaké:ton who looked uncomfortable. _"The last time I saw the Yellow Hair was a day before Mother walked away to the Faceless One. She never returned afterwards and I . . ."_ He stopped here and looked behind him to see if anyone was around before pinning his friend with a fierce glare. _". . . I crossed the valley in search for her."_

The portly adolescent gasped in shock. _"Friend, were you loony? You would risk the wrath of the villagers for a girl . . . no less, a girl born from the loins of a white man! Ratonhnhaké:ton?!"  
_

 _"I worried for her. She visited me for months, punctual everyday on time, Kanen'tó:kon. I thought the white men that came to hurt us had hurt her family too. I pray to this day to the Faceless One that she is alive."_

Kanen'tó:kon glared in disgust. _"Foolish you are, dear friend. A white man never strikes one of his own."_

 _"No, but a cruel man strikes whoever he wills."_ His friend looked up at him with naive brown eyes and it was only then that Kanen'tó:kon realised that they were still children. No doubt that they had seen things that they would never let the young ones of their community see now, but it still made surprised at how his friend was willing to see the good in everyone. Even in a white man.

When the drums began to beat for the morning breakfast, Ratonhnhaké:ton sighed before draping an arm around his friend. In that moment, no words needed to be spoken between them for they looked beyond the valley to see the sun rise. And a small realisation crept up in their hearts - to protect the home, one must venture out of it to fight the enemies.

 _"I leave now, Kanen'tó:kon. The village is from today under your care."_

The boy snorted in offence. _"It was always under my care, Ratonhnhaké:ton! Or are you implying that I am a poor protector?"_

 _"Only Teiowí:sonte and Kahion'kehá:ka will be able to tell you that, Kanen'tó:kon, for they are the best among us that protect this village."_

Kanen'tó:kon paled in response. _"Ratonhnhaké:ton, those brothers will surely skin me now that you are not here to protect me!"_

Ratonhnhaké:ton laughed freely before stepping over the edge to take a leap of faith. _"Do not dare to take my space in the longhouse. If you shall, then I will be the one skinning you, dear friend."_

 _"May the Faceless One guide you to the symbol you seek, Ratonhnhaké:ton."_

 _"And may the Faceless One protect you and this village, Kanen'tó:kon."_ And with that the boy leapt, disappearing past the green trees and leaving to protect the shelter that once protected him.

* * *

 **Really proud to put this chapter out. I hope I captured the beautiful Native spirit in the manner in which they converse. Once again, thank you for reading! :D**


	7. Angel from the past

_1770, Boston_

Ratonhnhaké:ton still could not fully grasp how much his life had changed. Everything fascinated him: the huge house belonging to the old man, the stagecoaches and Aquila - the magnificent ship that had steered to his command. He had been nervous sailing a huge vessel, but Robert Faulkner was not only a drunkard, but also a very efficient man. Years of drinking had not diminished his ability to fix a broken ship and arrange a crew in a short duration of time. Ratonhnhaké:ton wouldn't have known the first thing about fixing one for it was the first time he had seen a ship.

His fascination was not limited to objects, but to people as well. Godfrey and Terry had been a fascinating pair; at first glance the young native had assumed they were rivals, but upon hearing them banter back and forth, he was sure that their was an element of friendship present. Although it was unlike his and Kanen'tó:kon's friendship, he supposed this was the way things were around here. And the women . . . they wore strange dresses that took up far too much room that he would feel uncomfortable in his own space. But his discomfort was not merely caused by this, but also a haunting memory of a yellow hair wearing a similar style, but less voluminous.

"Don't stare!" Achilles, his mentor chastised with a nudge of the cane. Ratonhnhaké:ton hadn't realised his eyes had trailed over to the woman with a parasol as she glided away from him. The motion had entranced him - women in his village did not have dresses that trailed behind them in such a hypnotising manner.

He looked down, embarrassed. "Sorry." How many times had he said that in the last few months of his training? He only hoped that it didn't sound insincere, for every time he had uttered an apology, Ratonhnhaké:ton had always meant it. It was not the way of his people to say things that did not come from the heart.

Achilles sighed, his back bent and defeated, but his eyes sharp as he surveyed the crowd of Boston. "Fetch some supplies from that general store over there. You're also going to need a new name. Your skin is fair to pass you off as an Italian or a Spaniard blood."

He walked further, his damaged leg dragging behind the other. "Better to be a Spaniard than a Native. And both are better still than I." He remarked, the last part carrying a hint of sadness that Ratonhnhaké:ton felt compelled that he had to refute the claim. He had never felt a discrimination related to colour in his own tribe and the Yellow Hair had repeatedly remarked that there was no difference between them. This concept was difficult for him to understand, but it was evidently something his mentor had endured.

"What is _true_ and what _is_ aren't always the same." A pouch was handed in his palm, the heaviness of it reminding Ratonhnhaké:ton of the money-handling lessons he had sat through with Achilles. In the village, the currency was not gold or silver, but skin, feathers and acts of kindness displayed through one's actions.

"What would you call me, then?" He wasn't sure how easy it would be for him to respond to this new name that his mentor was about to bestow upon him. But then again, he had been learning and adapting in the last few months anyway.

"Connor. Yes, that is a good name." And with a poke in the back with his cane, Achilles pushed his apprentice in the direction of the general store.

Connor. The boy who may lead him and the Assassins out of the darkness.

* * *

The supplies were sorted and Connor had paid the correct amount demanded by the shopkeeper. He had also directed the helper who would carry the supplies to the carriage, but while his fascination had led him in and out of the streets, he had not realised that he was lost. The streets had looked the same and Connor had asked for directions for the last known location he was at.

"Excuse me. Where is the general store?" He had asked.

And the same question was posed to him in return each time. "Which one?"

He also noted that people stared at him for far too long, particularly a group of burly men who were just a slight bit shorter than him. They seemed agitated by him, his height and build making him seem like a challenge although Connor didn't understand why they would see him as a threat. It was not uncommon for boys in his village to reach their optimum height at an early age, but the stares were beginning to slightly unnerve him. He wished now that he had not strayed from his original task.

A dead end met him and some laundry strung up on a rope gently swayed in the spring breeze. It was quite here and the relentless heat from the sun and the stares had tired him more than he had expected. A small block of wood provided the perfect shade and he almost hurriedly perched on it to breathe some moments of relief. The long clothing shielded him from the entrance and he enjoyed this small moment of privacy. He understood why the white man was after his land now - they barely had their own space and the woods and valley of his village were vast and rich with nature's gifts. Of course, they would only corrupt it and Connor couldn't help, but feel anger at the unfairness of the situation.

A few moments of calm were disturbed by hurrying footsteps - light and lithe and he imagined it was either a child or a woman. "Quickly!" The voice hissed and then a barrage like footsteps thundered into this tiny garden away from the main street. He felt uncomfortable now, more so than before as eavesdropping was a heinous activity and his people did not take favourably to it. Yet, here he was - stuck in a very compromising situation where he was unsure on the best course of action.

"But Miss! You know how dangerous this is. If the Redcoats were to find out - they-they-they would - _mon dieu_! They would kill me, _mademoiselle_!" A man laced with a heavy accent cried, a few sniffles escaping him here and there. Connor felt the fear in his voice as well as the anguish and a strong urge to peak around the curtain enticed him.

"Listen to me, Philippe! I have a friend who knows a woman in New Orleans. This woman has been helping slaves escape to a place where they could be _free_! Do you not want that?" The woman who spoke had a strong compassion to her tone and Connor heard the sincerity laced in her words.

The man seemed hysterical with fear and the prospect of escape. "Oh yes, yes, yes, yes, _madame_! More than anything!"

"Then calm yourself, Philippe. I want you to promise you will not look back. My friend here will take you to the dock - you must play a convincing role of a slave till then."

"Oh _mon dieu_! _Merci_ , madame! Miss Daisy, you are an _ange_!"

The words stunned him - particularly the name that had become a distant, but an endearing memory. He had ripped himself from the shadows then startling the black slave who had thought he was a Redcoat. A woman - her long golden curls bounced behind her as she raced out towards the street and it was on instinct that he had begun to run after her.

Only one thought raced in his mind as his legs took him closer and closer to his old friend. _She was alive._ He came to a standpoint then where the woman he had sought jumped into a stagecoach - her blue eyes laced with fear scanning behind her once and sweeping over him as if he was not there. But it confirmed his suspicions on who this was - the uncanny likeness to his old friend was prevalent even after years of ageing. It was she - the one who had forced friendship on him and had left it there to bloom.

Elation exploded in his chest even when he tumbled to the ground after a large smack on the back from a familiar cane. "Stupid boy! Where have you been?"

And Connor had simply shrugged; a smile lingering on his young face as he stared longingly down the street.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading!**


	8. Savage and Savagery

_1770, Boston_

Determination had clouded her judgement in the last few months to the point where she had stopped caring about the consequences. Mrs Leighton's atrocities on the slaves, the Redcoats constant abuse had shaken her stance to remain disengaged and she had begun a secret underground system of transporting them out to New Orleans.

Her friend, Samuel Adams had responded to her letter when she had heard that he was secretly opposed to the treatment of slaves, but could not voice his beliefs in fear of diverting the attention from the main cause he was rooting for. He had sent her spies dressed as Redcoats and would transport the slaves to New York from where another connection would be made to New Orleans. Samuel Adams had reassured her that a woman by the name of Madeleine de L'Isle was a true abolitionist and had an arrangement for them on an excavation site in Chichen Itza. She had known Samuel Adams enough to trust his words and follow true to it.

But now arriving home to be met with her father and his acquaintances, she felt frightened. They were men of great calibre, more so than her father and she worried that her actions would decrease her father's social standing. Even if she did not regret her actions, she did not want to drag down a man who had raised her with nothing, but love and affection. Her mother's passing had taken a toll on him, but he had never mistreated her even when she was the direct cause of her mother's demise. Still - she prayed that no husband should have to lose his wife in childbirth, nor a child should grow up with no mother.

"Daisy!" Her father greeted her, his tone harsh and blue eyes tinted with concern. "Do you not know better than to gallivant around the town alone without an escort?"

Behind her, a man with a scornful, yet lustful expression snickered. Thomas Hickey - the man she absolutely despised eyed her messy hair disarrayed from running in the wind with a raise of an eyebrow. "Well, give the lass a break, _ol'_ Charlie. She _'as_ come of age - it's only natural she _'as_ a lover boy."

Daisy glared. "Father, no. I wanted to visit the library."

"What for? _Yer_ a lass - you don't need no books scrambling _yer_ brain." Hickey interjected, earning himself a hateful look from the thirteen year old.

"Simple minded as always, Hickey. Miss Lee can engage in the fine arts if she wishes or she can choose to marry. I doubt your opinion will hold little value here since you are so . . . _unenlightened_ in such matters." Haytham Kenway - a man she greatly respected saved her from spewing some stern words of her own. He had visited her after she had returned to England and longed for her father. He had taken a temporary role as a father figure. She had learned much from him about the world, but she especially loved the story he had told her of a native woman - _Ziio._ The woman who had stolen his heart, bewitched him with her beauty and simplicity and despite many years of their separation - he still loved her. Daisy had felt a connection with this man - he was fascinated with the natives and had someone dear to him from that community. And just like her, circumstances had ripped his loved one away from him. Yet he never forgot her, just the way she had never forgotten _Raton._

She wanted to be like Haytham Kenway - strong and noble with a heart full of love for the weakest.

"Thank you, Uncle Haytham." Daisy curtsied, her hem at the ankle dirty with the Boston mud, but she knew the man cared little for physical appearances anyway. "Father, I went out to fetch a book from the library. But the library was shut - there seems to be some sort of unrest. A rally, perhaps?"

At least she was telling the truth here, Daisy thought with a guilty heart. While she and Philippe were supposed to meet Samuel Adam's spy in the graveyard behind the library, they had found the place locked down. In fact, many places were shutting early as people prepared to riot against the British. They had been forced to seek another place and she prayed that no one had spotted them.

The three men shared a knowing look before they began to proceed to take their leave. Lee touched her shoulder fondly. "Stay inside, little one. We'll have a look and sort _it_ out, okay? I'll be back soon."

She nodded, curtsying a final time before he disappeared with the other two men into the darkness of the night. She only prayed that Philippe had made it.

* * *

 _1770, Boston_

The turn of events had happened much too quickly for Connor to wrap his head around. For some reason, he had been accused of firing the first shot which had led to the massacre of several townspeople. Seeing innocents fall had made his heart fill with dread especially since he was being blamed for something so horrific. Running through the streets avoiding Redcoats and the town criers who were labelling him a savage murderer made him feel truly alone for the first time in months. And Achilles and the stagecoach were also gone.

Then he had met a peculiar man - Samuel Adams. This man had dishonest solutions to his problems even though he had thought simply telling and explaining his side of the story would clear him of all charges. The man had disagreed strongly and since then he had torn drawings of himself and bribed enough heralds that his townsmen would be ashamed. Kanen'tó:kon had been right - there was so much wrong here, but it was so easy to tempt men with a few gold coins. He shuddered as he returned the still heavy coin pouch back to his new helper.

"Excellently done, Connor. Do you see now - it is easy to bring down your notoriety if you have money. As for a few people who have seen your face, they will forget by tomorrow or in a few days time. Till then, let me escort you to the port so that you can return home."

Connor looked grim. "Your practices are dishonest. We counter one lie with another."

Samuel sighed, nodding respectfully to the man who had made a fake announcement. "You can't be serious? THEY loosed this beast - or have you forgotten?" He stepped towards the ticket counter, removing a few coins and placing them on the counter. "A ticket to the homestead down up north."

"Still - there must be a honest way." Connor mused loudly.

"And when you find one - do let me know."

A glance behind at the hustle bustle reminded him of the previous evening when he had found a glimpse of his past. Even if the people in this town were angry and somewhat corrupted, he was elated that his old friend had not changed. She remained firm in her beliefs that everyone was equal and was actively involved in helping those who were the weakest. He longed to meet her and ask her about the years that had gone, but an unrelenting thought kept plaguing his mind. _Did she still remember him?_

And just as the ship began pulling away, Connor watched a Redcoat rushing towards Samuel Adams while looking frantic. "Sir! The lady has sent more slaves to be transported. It is a pandemonium, really! You must tell her to space out each delivery, sire, because I cannot be seen with a dozen of black men and women twice a day! It is much too suspicious!"

For the second time, Connor felt eager. He had a feeling that this lady in question was his old friend and acting on this knowledge, he had dived from the ship into the freezing, harsh river. The splash startled the harbormaster and Samuel Adams who was just about to take his leave. "Connor! What on earth are you doing?"

But the native shook excess water from his clothes as he pushed away from Samuel to fix the man with a cold glare. "Who is this lady you speak of?"

The man gnarled his teeth in response, not agreeing to take orders from someone who had questionable origins. "And just why would I tell you, savage? Go back to the forests in which you-!"

"Noah, restrain yourself and be respectful! Do not become one of _them_." His friend rebuked, patting Connor's shoulder and directing him to face him. "Now Connor, what is the matter?"

Connor looked slightly shook from the abuse that had been hurled his way. The word savage had been thrown around him all this time he was here in Boston, but never had he suspected it was a reference to himself. He was the savage, even though his people had done nothing savagery. They stayed in their land, they ate their own food and did not interfere in the politics of the white man. Yet he was the savage one here.

"I . . . I just. I have a feeling I know this lady you speak of."

Samuel laughed at the impossible notion. "I highly doubt it, friend. Miss Daisy is a very sheltered lady - she would not-!"

"I know her! D . . . Daisy, you say? I do know this name!" The excitement and the truth of his words were prevalent in his deep brown eyes and Adams found himself conflicted. He had promised the young miss in a letter that he would not disclose her identity to anyone and therefore he had not hesitated in voicing her name in front of his native friend. Yet, he was surprised that Connor was aware of this lady and there was a good chance that he knew this girl, for she was the same age as him.

"You wish to meet her, Connor?" Samuel asked, earning a surprised look from his spy. "Only if you promise you will not speak of our affairs to anyone. Well, except Achilles - he is a trusted friend of mine."

"I would never." Connor vowed. That was not even an option for him - he would never endanger the man who had helped him or the innocent slaves who sought freedom from the oppressors. And especially not his friend from the good past - he could not imagine ever causing her pain.

"Then, Noah - will you please inform Miss Daisy to meet me in the graveyard behind the library? With the rioters calm for a few days and the whole ordeal over, I am sure her stewardess will have no problem with allowing her to come alone."

The man passed a suspicious look towards Connor before nodding his head in parting. "Right away, sire."

Samuel smiled, an arm wrapping around the young boy's broad shoulders and allowing it to stay there even when he visibly stiffened. "Well, come now. I'll give you a good tour of Boston and we can enjoy breakfast together. You can also tell me how you know the young lady. I was longing for some company anyway!"

But Connor longed for the evening - wishing it was already here.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! They finally meet in the next chapter!**


	9. Rise from Death

_Boston, 1770_

The manor of the Lee family felt empty - the kitchen was starved of the chefs and the black slaves that usually mulled about and the horses were left unattended as they ran wild in every direction. The stewardess, Mrs Leighton shrieked for the umpteenth time that day - her voice travelling and agitating the headache that Daisy Lee was coming down with.

"My Lord! I cannot imagine the incompetence of you stupid soldiers!" She yelled at a young Redcoat who occasionally guarded the manor when he wasn't sneaking away to the brothel. "All of my ten slaves - gone! Without a trace and right under your nose, boy!"

"Ma'am, I-!"

"Not one word from your accursed mouth!" She interrupted, making the boy jump a little. "Now do not just stand there looking sorry for yourself! Go and find them! NOW!"

The boy nodded, hurrying to grab the reins of a brown horse that had destroyed all the hay stacks and proceeded to flee from the manor - his heels digging in the sides to spur him faster. Mrs Leighton sighed, deflated at all the energy she had spent panicking over the sudden disappearance of the slaves. She had been lucky that Master Lee barely frequented at the manor - choosing to rest at the tavern instead due to the nature of his work. Although she doubted it was all work down there, especially like the company of men he kept.

Had Master Lee seen the state of the manor she would have been jobless before she could get a word of apology in. What would she say to him anyway? That the slaves had been secretly planning an escape and had found the perfect window of opportunity to run. And ten of them - all at once? How could it not arouse suspicion, she wondered disappearing into her room for rest. It was barely sunset yet, but she feared she would go absolutely bonkers if she stayed awake a single second.

Daisy Lee looked up as a tired Mrs Leighton rubbed her temples. "Good evening, Mrs Leighton. What appears to be the problem?"

The woman looked up startled, surprised to find the girl sitting on the chair - her back straight and poised and a brown feather held in her dainty fingers. Feathers over quills - the girl was truly loony. However, Agatha smiled amicably not allowing any remnants of her thoughts for the girl to appear on her face.

"Oh, a very good evening to you too, Miss Lee. I must apologise for the commotion that has no doubt snatched your mind from your studies." She curtsied for good measure, hoping the girl did not take too unkindly to her disarrayed appearance. Not that Daisy's appearance was any better - the girl wore feathers on her dress. Truly aberrant, but her father would never tell her off. And so, neither could she.

Daisy shook her head gently. "No, please, Mrs Leighton. I understand you have had a stressful day. Please do retire to your quarters for a good rest." She stood up and curtsied, her night dress so antediluvian that Agatha Leighton wondered how this girl was ever courted several times before. "Also, it is fine to call me Daisy." The girl reminded for the umpteenth time, but the stewardess ignored her words as she addressed her formally again before heading inside to sleep.

* * *

 _Dear Mister Adams,_

 _I thank you for your swift response to my concerns. The men and women assigned to my manor continue to face abuse at the hands of my own people. I am powerless to defend them from the front, therefore I have no choice, but to take a more hidden approach. The guilt in my heart, however, continues to grow. I can no longer afford any more delay in their safety, so forgive me for burdening you with more than I had promised. I implore you once again to please see to their safety to New Orleans and should you require any assistance whether it is financial or more distinct in its nature, then please do not hesitate to correspond with me._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _D._

* * *

The brown feather fell from her aching fingers gently and she sighed, rubbing her eyes in the dull living room. The only source of light was the candle from her candlestick that flickered ominously as the winter wind blew in from an open window. Nights had been particularly difficult for the young girl for they were plagued with insomnia and nightmares. Seeing her friend's village burn had taken a toll on her mind and she had never forgotten the sight of the flames as they had engulfed the valley like hell sent down by an angry God. The smell of burning wood and flesh still stung her blue eyes, but this time from mental anguish rather than the physical aspect of it.

The next few days she had been inconsolable. Zeke had visited her secretly one last time to say his goodbyes for she was being sent back to Boston. Three months in the merchant ship had given her enough time to return from her misery. But she had not smiled for weeks till she came across Haytham Kenway. He had shown her the way forward, treated her with affection and love and had inspired her a new way forward. He was the only person who had known about her friendship with a boy called Raton and had kept it to himself. She didn't know how her Father would have reacted had he known.

Rapping on the door startled her and she rushed to open it while focusing to calm her racing heart. If Mrs Leighton was to awaken, she would have a fit that she had answered the door with her current attire. The Redcoat at the door was indeed no Redcoat, but Samuel Adams' trusted spy.

"Good evening." She whispered, glancing behind her before raising the candlestick between them. "This really is not a good time, Noah."

He nodded, blowing into his gloved hands for warmth. "Forgive me, miss. Sir has asked that you come immediately to the meeting point."

Her blue eyes looked stricken with perturbation. "Why ever so, Noah? Are the men and women alright?"

"Aye. It's a rather . . . _savage_ matter. I think we shan't discuss it here." He emphasised the word savage in a way that she did not like. It sounded almost like an insult as if directed at someone else. Her hand reached behind her to locate her coat and a scarf to tie around her hair. Noah looked on, surprised at the lady who looked more like a slave than a noblewoman. "Miss . . . there is no hurry. You can go and change into something more . . . appropriate."

Daisy met eyes with him with a deadpan expression. "This _is_ appropriate, Noah. I do not want to raise suspicion. Tongues will wag and safety of the people who rely on us will be compromised. Now, will you please lead the way?"

He nodded, hurrying to pull the horse to a standstill before looking at the woman whom he doubted had ever ridden a beast as big as this animal. "Errr . . . it would have been quicker to go on horseback. Let me find a stagecoach for you-!"

"No need." She interrupted, stroking the beast by the side of his face as if asking permission, before climbing elegantly to sit on its rear. "I trust you are fine to steer him. It would look much too odd if I was to."

The spy whistled, appreciation shining in his brown eyes. "I didn't ever fathom that a lady would know how to handle this beast." He brought his palm down harshly, hitting the horse and earning a whine from him. Daisy sighed at the terrible display of treatment and was once again swept into the past.

Zeke loved the horses - he had named them and would treat them with the highest of respect. She had been so afraid of the steeds when she was little, but he had shown her a special way to bond with them. He had said that introducing yourself to the horse in a kind and gentle manner would make it more likely to trust the one who intended to ride it. She had applied that advice today and indeed, the horse was affectionately slapping his tail on her legs.

When they passed the Green Dragon Tavern, Daisy pulled the shawl around her head tightly lest one of her father's men or acquaintances were to see her. She could not endure another round of suspicious interrogations and this time, she doubted Uncle Haytham would take her side. But in her good fortune, she realised that the tavern was rather empty near the entrance and that a piece by Michael Haydn was being played. Cheers and drunken slurs were heard each time the piece reached crescendo and Daisy was soon relieved when they rode past it to arrive at their destination shortly.

Samuel Adams emerged from behind a ceramic grave, his eyes welcoming as she had once seen before. He moved to help her, but she was already on her feet - her eyes firm and businesslike.

"Mister Adams, what seems to be the urgent matter? I understand that the number of men and women was rather large, but I had no choice."

He laughed loudly making her act more skittish. "And a very good evening to you too, Miss Daisy. I hope everything is well at your manor."

She shook her head, her golden curls escaping the tight bound. "Not quite, sir. I expected such a reaction though so it will soon be forgotten in a couple of days."

"I pray it is." He smiled, leaning on a gravestone before hurrying to stand at the scornful expression that took over the young girl's features. "Forgive me. I have had a rather long day and have dropped my manners here and there."

She nodded, her expression apathetic again. "I cannot be out for too long, sir, so forgive me for hurrying the discussion to its climax. What appears to be the matter?"

But before he could respond, a deep voice from behind her made her and Noah jump straight of their boots. "Hello."

She turned quickly and narrowed her eyes at the man or rather, boy, who looked very much out of place. He stood taller than the other two men making her step back a few steps in mild fear. The shadows of the building kept the boy opaquely visible to her, but she detected a smile on his face.

Troubled, she turned to Samuel again. "Who is this? Another spy?"

The man chuckled, stepping forward to the boy and bringing him into the light. Time stilled for her for a few seconds as she wondered if it was possible for a dead person to return to life. Her heart stopped at the uncanny resemblance of this native boy to the child she had befriended eons ago and she couldn't stop the tears that clouded over her blue eyes.

"This man is Connor. Do you recall?"

She looked down to avoid his piercing brown eyes that studied her with a bedazzled expression of his own. "Forgive me, but I do not know this man."

Samuel Adams looked confused between the two teenagers. "Miss Daisy, are you sure? This is Connor?"

The girl looked furious and haunted at the same time as she fixed a glare on the man who had aided her in the last few months. "I _SAID_ I do not know this man or a Connor. You are mistaken, good sir. Good night!" Her words were short as she curtsied to him before walking back to the horse. Life was playing a truly cruel joke on her. The trauma of her friend was ever present in her mind and the last thing she had expected was to come across an impostor who looked very much like him. Why did the Lord above not allow her to forget?

"Wait!" The boy cried, a desperateness clinging to his baritone voice. "My name is not Connor!"

She turned, surprised as were Samuel and Noah. He had stepped towards her; his eyes large with an insurmountable fear. Fear from what, she wondered as she found her voice again after recovering from being lost in the resemblance of his young face. "It does not matter, sir. Either way I do not know you."

She turned again, but he grabbed her hand earning a shocked gasp from all three of them.

The nerve of the boy, Noah thought as he stepped forward and shoved at his chest. The native barely dislodged from his place, but Samuel Adams had rushed forward to restrain the spy. "Noah! This is not the way to act in front of a lady!"

"He is touching the young miss, sire! The savage has lost his manners to his savagery! He is unable to restrain his desires-!"

"Enough." The woman in question hissed, glaring at the spy. "Do not overstep your boundaries, Noah. If you work for Mister Adams, surely you would have learned that there is no distinction between men of different origins. And _we_ do not make those distinctions." Her blue eyes flashed with anger and Connor felt his own breath hitch. He had only seen this expression on her face once before - a long time ago when they had been young and she had invaded her way into the valley to befriend him. He had made her cry then and she had left angry, promising him that she would not return. This was truly her, he thought, his grip on her small hand tightening ever so slightly.

"Release me this instant." She commanded, her eyes not meeting his.

He did not obey and instead chose to touch a feather that she had woven onto her dress. Amused, he couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face at the chicken feather that she had once offered to bring for him. She had been naive to his culture and had assumed that any feather would make for a perfect gift.

He realised now that he had been worried for nothing. She still remembered him.

"Chicken feather." He remarked, nodding towards it and directing her eyes down to her sleeve. "I told you only eagle feathers are special."

His words seemed to have the effect that he had desired, except it came with a few negative side effects. Her eyes had widened with horror as she looked into his own, her face paling to the point where her red cheeks were ghastly white. She was deathly still, her chest barely moving to breathe and a sheen of water appearing over her eyes from not blinking. Samuel Adams seemed to share his concern when he stepped forward and touched the girl on her shoulder.

"Miss Daisy. Are you . . . well?"

"Fine." She croaked looking anything, but fine. Her hand had become clammy in his warm palm and the whole situation felt constricting to her. Under his questioning gaze, she felt trapped as if once before when they were young. But the fact that the boy who had died now stood alive and well before her frightened her. More so than she could imagine for she had never run away from anything before. But arriving back in her room at the mansion, out of breath and with tears leaking from her eyes reminded her that she had now taken to cowardice.

She had run away from her dead friend who had been the centrepiece of her life.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**


	10. Protector

_1770, Boston_

It had been three weeks since Daisy Lee had ventured outside of her mansion. Her father had visited her at the start when she had begun to take on extensive reading and had stopped coming out from her room, but eventually his work had taken priority over her as usual. At most times she would have been sad at this knowledge, but this time it soothed her mind that she was left alone with her thoughts. Haytham Kenway had written a polite note to her stating that her father was very worried for her and was remembering her often. She had felt terrible at having ever doubted her father's boundless love for her.

What was she to do except hide? Her courage had given way under her and she feared that she had blown off the best thing life had returned to her. Raton had not died and while a part of her rejoiced, another dark part refused to let her be happy. Her nightmares had come back in full force and this time she had started seeing the thirteen year old boy burning in the fire. She had barely caught any sleep in the last weeks - finishing books in days that would normally take weeks and her dress that was tailored to fit her in the most appropriate places had now loosened. She felt lifeless - more than ever before.

And finally when her misery could not get any worse, Daisy sat on her balcony, her eyes sweeping across on the bustle of the city when she felt a letter slide in from under her door. The instructions to Mrs Leighton had been clear - to never read her mail and to not bother her if she did not wish to be disturbed. Her stewardess, as heartless and cold as she was to the weak still followed the rules and conditions for which she had agreed upon.

With a tired sigh, the girl walked to her door and picked up the yellowing page folded and sealed like an envelope. Using her feathery letter opener, she gingerly picked at the red seal till the glue disconnected from the page. Cursive handwriting greeted her and thus began a two day long correspondence which eventually forced Daisy to seek out her best friend.

* * *

 _Dear D,_

 _I would like to begin this letter with a heartfelt apology. The undue stress that you faced that evening could have been avoided had my efforts been more productive. I had not imagined the consequences of such a long reunion would be so disastrous, but know that my intention as well as your friend's was not ill. I spoke to Noah and found that you have refused all appointments - I only hope this letter finds you in good health._

 _And as for Connor, you need not hide anymore for he is long gone. He will not be a bother to you anymore._

 _I hope you will continue to support my cause for freedom. Madeleine de L'Isle corresponded with me and has reassured me that the **subjects** are well and free in Chichen Itza. They have space for a lot more too. _

_With my best wishes,_

 _S._

* * *

Gone? Where had he gone? Her heart trembled with a nostalgic fear - the kind that swept her back to when she would play hide and seek on the valley and never be able to find him. She would call his name out over and over again till finally, he would take pity on her and reveal himself with a large smile. And each time she would burst into tears telling him that she had been scared wandering in the large forest looking for him. After that, each time they played hide and seek, he would hide behind a place which became easier for her to find. It was deliberate on his part, but she admired him even more after that.

Her fingers had grabbed a feather and a parchment before even registering this small action. The words had appeared in mere minutes before she threw down the parchment to a Redcoat, telling him that he was not to return till a reply was given. The address on the letter was for Samuel Adam's servant quarters. He had told her that should she wish to write to him, she should send it to Surry, his slave. When she had asked why, he had said that correspondence between them would be far too suspicious.

Hopefully Surry would not delay in delivering her letter.

All she had to do now was wait.

* * *

 _Dear S,_

 _Whatever do you mean he is long gone?_

 _D._

* * *

 _Dear D,_

 _I had not expected such a fast response from you. When Surry came in running with your letter, I truly thought something had gone wrong. Your messenger was apparently demanding that a reply was given immediately and he gave the poor girl quite a scare. Not to worry though as Surry is easily frightened._

 _Connor has returned to his home. He resides in Davenport Homestead with a man named Achilles Davenport. He left that very evening after meeting you._

 _Forgive me if I am making assumptions here because I, indeed am, but do you wish to meet Connor again? I may be able to arrange a stagecoach or a merchant ship for your transportation to the Homestead, but how you are to receive permission for such a travel is something I can unfortunately not help you with._

 _I wait for your reply eagerly._

 _Kind regards,_

 _S._

* * *

 _Dear S,_

 _Please arrange for me the quickest transportation to reach the Homestead. As for my permission to travel, I do not need it. Father is away on business and he will not need to know about my momentary disappearance._

 _Thank you kindly for all your help._

 _With gratitude,_

 _D._

* * *

And as was the custom between them, Daisy swept all the letters she had received in the span of a few hours and chucked them into the fireplace. A small satchel containing her light dresses was packed and she set off into the darkness of the night with a small letter pinned to the wall. It was filled with lies, but she could not even pretend to be guilty.

* * *

 _Dear Mrs Leighton,_

 _Forgive me for the suddenness of this letter. I hope it finds you well and that you understand my circumstance._

 _I need some time to collect my thoughts and see the future that I have paved for myself. Thus is the reason why I have decided to travel up north so suddenly. Worry not, for Father is aware of this and I have sought permission from him. I also travel with a Redcoat and will return within a few days if not earlier._

 _I entrust the mansion to your care till then for you are a capable stewardess, indeed._

 _With my best wishes,_

 _Daisy Lee._

* * *

When the stagecoach stopped at the entrance of the Homestead, Daisy had handed over the correct change and had jumped out of the stagecoach unassisted. The man stared at a little too long, an insult at the tip of his tongue at her unladylike behaviour, but she did not stay long enough to listen. And soon, when he noticed that her attention was now fixed on the house before them drove off - the sound of the horse hooves clicking getting further and further away.

What was she going to say? There was so much she longed to, but seeing his eyes before had brought far too unpleasant memories to mind. She had run away from him and the sight of the grief shining in his bright brown eyes and he had simply left. No doubt, he assumed that she despised him and did not care about him at all. Nothing could be more further from the truth.

Before her thoughts sent her running again, she marched with shaky legs to the brown door of the large mansion. Her knuckles rapped on the door slightly at first, her nerves getting ahead of her again. But with a newfound determination, she pounded on the door the next time. And waited.

And waited.

This time she rapped harder knowing that this was not an indecent time to visit. It was a quiet afternoon, birds chirping in the tall comforting trees and shading the entrance from the harsh sunlight. But despite the relaxing peace of the Homestead, she was scared at what lingered in the dense, thick forest. Even as a little girl, she found that Raton was brave for running through the forests every Friday to come meet her on the valley. She had once asked him how he found his way around the forest and his reply had been strange.

 _The trees guide me, the birds speak to me and the songs of my people call me back home._ It had been a poetic answer, but Daisy now realised that it was impractical for someone like her. She was frightened of what lay inside the forest and . . . were those eyes staring at her?

Heart pounding and adrenaline rushing through her was what made her turn and run behind the mansion as a bobcat jumped out of the bushes and landed on the porch where she had been standing. A scream tore through her throat when sharp daggers swiped at her back and the string holding the satchel detached. The burning that began then on her back alerted her that the animal had landed a perfect attack on her and that she was in grave danger. Her legs pushed her to run faster at this knowledge, but once again she felt a painful swipe at her shoulder.

This time the assault wasn't light as before. The bobcat forced its entire weight on the girl sending her sprawling on the ground with a painful cry. Her eyes widened as she stared at the blood that had seeped from her clothes into the snow, destroying its purity. For the bobcat, however, this was a delight. The predator salivated - its sharp green eyes glaring at her, sharp teeth bared and its strong legs bent as it sat back to take the final dive into its meal. This was it - her end had come and she had failed to tell Raton that she was so glad to see him well and alive. She had wanted to gift him the feathers she had collected and to apologise for running away. Alas, it had been all for nothing.

Death stared at her from a short distance away and as if the forest knew of her impending doom, it suddenly became quiet. The birds chirping was gone - the hollow barks of the elks became nonexistent and so did her heart. She was suddenly calm, the blood loss lulling her mind to brighter times. The green eyes of the bobcat were now brown and concerned, the cold and sharp claws of it now warm and gentle hands. And before her eyes shut, she heard an anguished cry - the opposite of the greedy roar of her attacker.

"NO!"

* * *

Achilles Davenport had had the most distressing three weeks of his life. Losing his dearest wife and son to typhoid fever had made him doubt that he could ever feel such worry again, but that foolish boy Connor had brought that out of him too. Three weeks ago, he had returned back visibly upset and heartbroken over something that he had refused to disclose. Every time Achilles would ask what had him so worried, the boy would ignore him and bury his nose deeper in a book.

And the next morning, he had disappeared with the Aquila without even saying goodbye. It was upon meeting the drunkard sailor, Peg Leg who had after talking endlessly about Captain Kidd's discoveries finally revealed to him that the _green boy and the good ol' sailor_ , Faulkner had set off to Martha's Vineyard to fit cannons. Fury had engulfed Achilles and he had once again taken his horse to ride around the Homestead to calm his temper.

His surprise almost made him forget his displeasure when he returned home and there sat the boy, his eyes fixed on an unconscious girl.

"Connor!" Achilles barked, his cane ready to lead him to the boy and strike him good. "You go for three weeks without so much of a goodbye and bring back with you a girl! Whatever is wrong with you, you foolish child!"

When the boy did not respond, his head lowered and fixed on the woman, Achilles felt himself grew concerned again. "What . . . is she okay?"

And the mentor had his heart stop for a quick second when the boy looked up, his eyes suspiciously red and tears hanging off the ends of his sharp jaw. "She . . . is not . . . waking up." He finally choked out, his voice anything unlike Achilles had ever heard before. The anguish on his face and the trembling of his hand clutched around the girl instantly reminded Achilles of himself and Abigail.

"Move over. Fetch my medical kit from the kitchen." When Connor looked at him, stuck deep in his anguish, Achilles poked him with his cane. "No time to dawdle, boy. Get it now!"

An hour had passed where Achilles had spent bandaging the girl's wounds. When blood had stopped, he watched as her breathing that was previously laboured now eased into small whispers. He thanked his Mentor then who had forced him to undergo extensive medical training even if it had not been enough to save his wife and child.

Turning to put his kit behind him, he met eyes with his student who had not moved from the doorway, but had also not stepped closer to avoid invading his privacy. Achilles had yelled at him to get out of his way when Connor had stuck too close to the girl and since then his student had taken to keeping watch from the corner. And now he had questions to answer, but before then the girl needed a change of clothes.

"Go and fetch Catherine or Diana, will you?"

Connor's brown eyes focused on him with mild confusion. "What is the need? I am here to look after her."

Achilles grinned teasingly. "Well if you are on such _close_ terms with the young lady, then I suppose you can change her clothes."

He watched as confusion flickered in his student's eyes before the meaning of his words dawned on him. "What! No!" He denied, his voice carrying embarrassment and his tanned face exploding with a fierce red colour. Achilles chuckled at his student's refreshing naivety. It sometimes became far too annoying, but Connor was of a noble and humble heart and Achilles had come to see that.

"Get going then, boy."

"You go." The annoying rebellious streak was back that Achilles wished he could tame. "I will keep watch."

"Don't push your luck, boy. You are not off the hook for leaving without informing me."

Connor glared fiercely at his mentor, before looking longingly at the unconscious girl. "Fine." When the boy still didn't move from the doorway, Achilles began to rise - his ominous cane held threateningly in his student's direction and it was only then that the boy turned and left.

And it had been barely ten minutes before he was back, out of breath with a heaving Diana who looked terribly worried. Achilles had hooked the curved end of his cane on Connor's elbow to lead him out of the room when Diana had begun to lift the young girl's skirts. The boy had clearly lost his mind to the point where he wasn't even aware of how indecent he was being.

"Boy, you have some explaining to do." Achilles remarked, sitting on his only wooden chair that the boy had not broken. "Who is that girl, how do you know her and why on earth is she here?"

The student sighed, his eyes fixed on the door of the bedroom hoping to see Diana emerge. "Her name is Daisy. She . . . is a friend."

"Riiiight." His mentor drawled, his eyes uncertain as if he did not believe his words at all. After a small thought, Achilles asked again. "What is the lass' last name, boy?"

Connor looked annoyed as if that was the last question he wanted to be asked. "What does it matter?"

The ex-Assassin looked incensed at his blase concern. "You bring a strange girl into my home and you do not know where she comes from. Your naivety has regressed to something very much like stupidity, boy!"

"I know where she comes from! She lives in Boston and I know her since before the passing of my mother! What else is there to know?" His student yelled back, his arms crossed tightly before his chest and his eyebrows drawn together with indignation. His mentor had such little faith in him and it had started a seed of doubt in his mind whether his decision to trust this man to train him had been wise.

Achilles sighed, conceding defeat. "Listen to me, boy. She looks like a noblewoman. Her disappearance being linked to you is the last thing you need. How many times must I say that Assassins need to be discreet!"

If his fury was large before, it was now overwhelming. "So what would you have me do? To have left her there bleeding from her wounds?" His teeth scratched each other as self control slowly came to him, but his mentor's words forever leaving a dark hole in his heart. His mentor had a heartless side to him and Connor was determined that he should never be like him. "I cannot! She is far too important for me to even give little thought to what might the circumstances be!"

And with his final words out, he left the kitchen to go stand beside the closed bedroom door.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading!**


	11. Alive

_1770, Davenport Homestead_

Nights at the homestead were far more tranquil than the two nights Connor had spent in Boston. It had surprised him how folk were able to even catch a second of quiet to ease their mind into slumber, but surprisingly his body had adapted in a few hours when he had nodded off in someone's garden behind a few barrels. Even at the darkest hours of the night, the Redcoats would patrol the city and merchants would stay open till late to make as much money as possible.

Here at the homestead, everyone retired as soon as the chirping of the birds quieted. It was a pattern his people too had followed and one that had allowed them to connect with nature in every sense. It had been a relief when he had arrived to see that his mentor too preferred to turn in as early as possible and to rise as early as possible. So it was in this moment that he found himself sitting beside the unconscious girl as the sun cast a gentle parting glow in the living room.

When he had seen her three weeks ago, it had been dark and she had concealed most of her face with a dark shawl. But he had seen her blue eyes that had stared at him with mild fear and confusion and then extreme anguish. Now, as the sunlight touched her slight features, he noticed her features that had developed with the resemblance he remembered intact.

Her nose was small, the tip sharp and red as he remembered. Her hair was golden without a trace of black, her eyelashes so feathery and light. His heart caught in his chest when they flickered briefly before stilling again. His eyes continued their trace when they stopped on the dress Diana had changed her into. He had handed her the satchel which he had found near her body and in it, there were dresses with feathers stitched everywhere.

He did not like making assumptions without having full proof, but he was sure she wore feathers because of him. She had remembered his customs that he had briefly introduced her to and had held on to them despite seeing a world much different from his. People had given him strange and unwelcoming looks when he had first arrived in Boston, but the thought of someone doing the same to her set his nerves on fire. He could not forgive anyone who would hurt her and only The Faceless One knew how much he had to restrain himself from tearing that bobcat piece by piece. Instead, he had aimed a swift shot straight in between its eyes and had honoured the way of his people when it came to killing animals.

A cough startled him and he leaned over her just as her face contorted in pain. He watched tears like silver rain escape the corner of her eyelids and something lodged deep in his throat. She was hurting and there was nothing he could do for her. Even when he had found her bleeding and torn by a vicious animal, he had been unable to do much for her. Her blood still stained his buckskin breeches, but the thought of leaving her side to attend to his needs had not even occurred in his mind. In the end, he had to rely on another man to save her for his own medical skills were nonexistent. But he swore that he would seek such lessons from Achilles and even a doctor so that never should he feel so helpless again.

She groaned, the sound soft and low-pitched. Her eyes flew open after a few tears escaped and he caught a word that escaped her lips instinctively. "Father . . ."

"Are you alright?" He asked, moving into her line of vision when he saw she had begun to look around her unfamiliar surroundings. Her pupils were strange as they almost engulfed her blue irises and gave her the appearance of having black eyes. But when she blinked several times and light touched them, the familiar blue reappeared.

She looked on at him, giving no indication that she was even able to see him. Instead, she stared at him deep and long till he decided to touch her forehead to confirm that she was not delirious. Her forehead was no longer warm like it had been several hours ago, but she was still acting very strange. It was in these moments when he truly doubted that she had kept him in her memory.

"You're . . . alive." The words were soft like a purr and once again Connor was surprised that he had never heard anyone speak that way before. Women in his village carried authority in their voice and Catherine and Diana also held a nagging tone when it came to pushing their husbands around. Yet she spoke in a manner that he found particularly . . . appealing. But most importantly, he was stunned at the implication of her words. Had she thought him dead all this time?

His hand sought hers immediately like their previous meeting. This time, he allowed himself to notice how small it felt in his own and the evident contrast of their skin tones. "Why would I not be?"

Tears now openly streamed from her eyes at a pace that was not there before. His agony and guilt grew as he realised that she was in immense pain and still he could do nothing to ease her, but her words put a halt to his concerns. "I . . . I thought . . . you were dead." She sniffed, her nose as red as his moccasins and her blue eyes bright like the stars that glittered outside. "You're . . . really alive."

He opened his mouth to say something, anything that would get her to stop weeping for him. The Great One knew he did not deserve her tears, but the thought that he had become the reason behind them made his heart shatter like the day he realised that she was never going to visit him again. He did not realise that his own eyes now stung and hot tears collected near the edge of his eyelids. He had not cried since losing his mother, but today he had found himself crying twice. All for this person who held a part of him he thought his hatred had otherwise consumed.

"Why did you stop visiting?" He demanded, his hand tightening around hers in the slight betrayal he had never stopped feeling. "I waited for you every Friday. Then everyday. Then every week till I realised you would not return. I laid my heart on the ground that day!"

His outburst did not surprise her for she had awaited for this day when he would question her for her betrayal. But he had to know that she was innocent of all charges - that she would have never rejected his friendship then and she had not rejected it now. "I came . . . to your village when-when it caught fire." She let out a pained breath and Connor almost silenced her there, but she refused to let her agony prevent her from voicing her reply in defence to his questions. "The fire . . . it engulfed the valley. I got caught in it and was rescued by one of the servants." She sniffled uncomfortably at his intense gaze knowing that this part would lead him to feel guilt. "Whatever I did - I did of my free will. I wanted to see that you were okay-!"

"Were you hurt in the fire?" His immediate interruption silenced her into a deep dilemma. She had suffered several burns that had faded, but had scarred her forever. Her father had gone berserk with concern and had taken her straight back to England for the best treatment. How she had survived that journey was a miracle, but the sight of those ugly scars haunted her.

He squeezed her hand tightly as if to draw her essence back to him again. "Daisy. Were you hurt in the fire? Answer with truth if you ever honoured our friendship."

She only had to meet his eyes tearfully that he understood her answer. The fire created by vile men had not only taken his mother from him, but had also scorched his friend from the world beyond. His hatred for that man - the man whose name filled him with an animal like barbarism now made him see red. He no longer cared about hunting the Templars - it was just him. He wanted that man dead, his blood spilling from every wound that he promised to inflict on him. It was no longer the way of his people, but Connor would not mind scalping the man and brandishing his head around as a sign of victory.

"Ow!" She whimpered when his fingers squeezing her dainty hand painfully. That look in his eyes was something Daisy had never seen before. As a child he had a frightening aura to him, but what she was seeing now was nothing short of . . . horror. The rage in his eyes, the tightening of his jaw and the way a distinct vein appeared on his cheek frightened her. Or perhaps it was the true fact that she had chosen to ignore on the journey from Boston to Homestead. Perhaps, he had changed too just as she had.

His eyes softened so quickly that she almost convinced herself that she had hallucinated the ill change in him. His grip left her hand and then came around her shoulders and waist to lift her in an embrace. Even after years of separation, this small gesture was not awkward for they had shared many hugs when they were little. She would always greet him with a tight hug every Friday and the first few instances, he had shoved her away confused at why she chose to squeeze him in such a manner. Later she had learned that his people weren't too fond of actions involving touching. It had saddened her to learn that he barely received any hugs and so she would give them for any reason.

Still, he had never initiated it first until now. "I thought . . . you hated being touched."

He sighed into her golden hair, the smell of flowers exploding in his nostrils. She still smelled the same - clean and flowery. It reminded him of the forests back home and his mother who also smelled like trees, grass and everything natural. "I do." He affirmed, tightening an arm around her bony shoulders. He wondered if the white men were stingy with food with their women like they had been stingy with his people. She was so frail and he couldn't help, but allow the urge to forever protect her. Although he was sure her father would not be too glad to see an Indian hovering around his daughter. White men were not fond of him and he doubted her father would be any different. It was strange how such a thought had never entered his mind as a child, but here he was wondering if their friendship would stand past any trial.

"What were you doing in Boston?" She finally asked, her warm breath tickling the side of his neck. He shifted away from her slightly confused at the strange appeal that came with the discomfort of her breath. She didn't notice, her eyelids heavy with slumber as heat from the fire lulled her back into slumber. Her head rested on his shoulder, her golden hair splayed over his bloodied clothes and her lips an attractive red when Connor suddenly realised where his thoughts had led him. He couldn't have disengaged from her quicker as he laid her back down gently, retracting himself completely from her.

His heart thudded in his chest at the confusion of his own mind and a strange fear. He was only glad he did not have to answer her as she slept on deeply . . . peacefully.

But he was left with a slight shame - a shame that he didn't think would ever make him feel guilty too. In that moment that had passed like the wind with no witness, but himself he had felt _something_ taint the pure friendship that existed between them.

For a few seconds, that _something_ had painted her in a different light to him.

And even now, as he stood staring at her, he continued to see her in _that_ light. Picking up his blue roll with an urgency, he walked to the corner of the bedroom where he laid it flat on the ground. He turned his back to her, his eyes catching the crescent moon from the window as it promised to shed some light on his confused mind. And with this, he fell in a deep slumber - his dreams of a yellow haired girl who engulfed him in flowery hugs.

* * *

 **Please don't think this is going too fast - I am only being realistic. Connor is a 13 year old boy and he is bound to have such feelings even if he is far too noble and innocent. I am definitely not purposing the idea of love here at this stage for it is far too early for both characters and some serious development is required for such a thing to occur. Anyway, thank you for reading!**


	12. Nostalgia

_1770, Davenport Homestead_

Years had passed since Connor had slept without waking up in a cold sweat - his mother's face bloodied and pinched with pain speaking to him her final words. The image and the memories of wandering around the village away from families that were not broken like his forever continued to haunt him, but today as he squinted against the sharp sunlight he knew he had overslept. His eyes didn't ache and his heart wasn't hammering like he had gotten so used to every morning, but a glance at the bed behind him brought all of that back in an instant.

The bed was empty and had been made as if no one had ever rested upon it. Every trace of the girl who he had held in an embrace last night had vanished and a familiar dread ignited a wave of adrenaline within him. He was out into the hallway and a peek into the silent kitchen indicated that no one had been there too. _She could not have left._ And then a disturbing thought rendered him immobile. _Had it all been a dream?_ He felt that familiar agony impale him and his heart that had soared from pleasant dreams now slammed him back onto the grounds formed by reality.

And then he had rushed into every room in the huge mansion, his feet slamming against the wood as it protested beneath his moccasins with dangerous creaks. The empty walls laughed at his anguish, the lifeless objects stared at him sightless. He was the one who felt lifeless in this moment even as his heart slammed against his chest and his own eyes blurred with unshed tears. _Had it all been a dream?_

Finally, his feet dragged him back to the bed by which he had sat for hours staring upon her. Pillows fluffed, bed sheet straight without a wrinkle. And not a trace of blood. _It had all been a dream._

He looked down, unable to keep his head up. He did not know what kept him standing anymore, except perhaps the face of the man who had nearly once strangled him to death. Once upon a time, he had been nurtured with love - love from his mother, his people and from the yellow-haired girl who brought him odd presents. All had perished that day in the fire except the story book which he carried with him to this day. The moral of the story brought him comfort - no matter where he went, he would always find peace at home. At his village. Yet, he had not been at peace. The puzzles to his life had been scattered out far from his village and he had set off to find them. He realised now that a small piece of the puzzle was his friend - and without it, he could never even hope to be complete. _And she was gone._ _Again._

Thoughts of his past entered his mind when he had sat on the valley hoping for her return, till he noticed the blood that had soaked his buckskin breeches and droplets of it that had dampened the brown of his moccasins. Laughter from outside further cleared away his confusion and he was rushing out towards the back entrance, the tinkling sound drawing him out of his agony.

Near the edge of the valley sat Achilles, his legs outstretched and his cane deposited on his side. The sunshine blinded him momentarily as it reflected off a figure with honey coloured hair. Her blue eyes twinkled to something inaudible Achilles said and carefree laugh escaped her - the one he had seen many eons ago. And when his mentor gestured towards his ship that had been docked across the valley, her face turned away from him and her hypnotising profile was gone. An urge to see her face again drew him to them and she turned around with a big smile when Achilles greeted him with a good morning.

"Raton!" She exclaimed, her eyes dancing with happiness. He found himself smiling at her use of the old nickname and with a sigh, he hoped his heart would stop beating so erratically now that he knew it was not a dream. But it surprised him even more when it did the exact opposite.

He looked at her then - alive and well in front of him. Nothing had changed about her on the surface, but Connor knew that this was far from the case to what she kept deep within her heart. Her admittance at having been injured in the fire had confirmed to him that she had suffered too as a result of another person's actions and he vowed to avenge her pain.

"Raton?" Her eyes looked confused and concerned as they scanned his tan brown shirt stained with blood, before horror swiped across in a flash. "You're hurt too! The-the-the cat hurt you too!" Her eyes dulled as tears swam across them and he was left speechless again. How long ago had it been when someone had cried for him? Had been concerned for him?

"No, young miss. The boy got those blood stains from saving you." Achilles interjected after having had enough of his student's mysterious silence. At most times the boy would not stop complaining about anything and everything Achilles ever made him do, but today he was uncharacteristically quiet. And late.

"Finally awake, I see." He teased, watching as he pinked slightly. "A good sleep, I take, right Connor?"

She smiled innocently at his remarks, before looking slightly guilty. "I am sorry I took your sleeping space!" Her tiny hand outstretched towards him and their hands met as naturally as the white man's custom of shaking hands, except they never shook hands, but simply held them. It was a tradition that he had started when she would get lost in the forest while staring at the different birds that stared down at them. Her distraction would always stray her off from following him and he had figured this method to keep her from taking a different path.

"It is well." He assured her, his eyes sweeping across her golden curls, before moving to stare at her sleeves where a few bandages poked out from the ends. "You should not be out here. Your wounds are still fresh and should not be stretched."

She smiled mischievously at him. "It is well." A rare smile tugged at his lips again when he noticed that she had copied him. And then she leaned forward, her eyes huge at whatever had caught her attention. He saw her clearly then - the golden eyelashes, the way her face pinched with thought and the dimples that touched her cheeks. His breath caught when an unwanted realisation swept through him. _Beautiful._

"Amazing! Are those teeth, Raton?" She poked his bear claw necklace with her index finger, her breath sweeping across his neck like last night. He shuffled away hurriedly when similar thoughts began to invade his mind. She had been asleep last night or she would have noticed something had been amiss about him. The thoughts had kept him awake for a long time and he had not understood why, except that there was a part of him that wanted to entertain them a little longer.

"They-they are bear claws." He stated, hesitant, his hand swiping across his face to partly shield himself from the dejected look on her face and to wipe away the heat that had collected in his cheeks. Her hand had escaped his and he eagerly sought it out again, but chose to sit far from her. Only the Faceless One knew how hard that was for him.

The fascination in her eyes returned at his words although her skin paled slightly at the image of Raton wrestling a huge bear before hacking off his claws, but it also reminded her of something tender. "My father collects strange things too, you know! He brought home the most hideous looking necklace and has since never removed it!" She giggled at the memory of how odd her father had looked in the ancient necklace, for he was so adverse to anything that was out of fashion.

Achilles having seen the entire encounter was pleased at the turn of the conversation. "What does your father do, young miss?"

She smiled genuinely, her eyes growing fond at the memory of the man who had raised her with love and tenderness. "He is . . . well, he has done a lot. He was in the military for a good few years. But as of lately, he has been collecting antiques of some sorts." She looked puzzled at her own words realising now that for many years she had not known what her father had been up to. He had travelled around the world extensively and had generated a large sum of money in a few years, but he had never put a name to his profession. He even hated it when someone called him by the term 'General'.

He nodded, his eyes sharp with this knowledge and the way his student continued to gaze at the girl. "And your mother?"

Silence surrounded them for a few seconds before she smiled bitterly. "She passed in childbirth. I - I didn't know her." Only God knew how much she longed to. The lack of presence of her mother had not affected her till her father's lack of presence started too in her life. And at times she felt like an orphan, coddled by stewardesses who bestowed fake, paid sympathy on her.

The wise mentor noted the same grief that reflected in both pair of eyes and knew that his presence would only cause them discomfort. After offering an excuse to see to breakfast, he limped away hoping that both could one day move past their sadness. Heaven knows, he was still trying.

* * *

Connor tugged on her hand, drawing her back from the unpleasant memory of her lonely childhood. She had been stuck in an big mansion with endless doors and darkness. Her stewardess had forgotten to light the candlesticks and she had wandered around in the darkness, cowering from the occasional flash of lightning. She had spent the whole night hiding under the table wishing for anyone to be there for her - her Father, Raton, Zeke, anyone. Yet, night had gone and day had come, but the fear of darkness now was forever imprinted on her.

"It has passed with the wind." He remarked, staring curiously at her frightened eyes and the quivering of her thin hand in his own. "Let the fear pass with it too."

She merely sighed, resting her golden head on his shoulder, her fingers intertwining with his in a strange manner. They had never held hands with . . . such intimacy before and it was no surprise that the dimension of their relationship had changed too with the time. Something strange fluttered in his stomach when she looked up, her blue eyes intense with sadness and so close to his own. He had seen the blue ocean for the first time in these previous weeks, but the blue of it had enchanted him. And her eyes were the same - an ocean with pure blue waves; waves of happiness, fear, grief, friendship and love.

"What are you doing here, Raton?" It was similar to a question she had posed to him the night before, but the response, whether he gave it or not escaped her memory. She remembered then when he was young and was afraid of anything that came beyond the valley. "I thought you said you were not allowed past the valley."

The words she spoke were a whisper of a memory that had now long passed. He was no longer a child who could be kept encaged on his own land by the oppressors. No doubt the villagers, Kanen'tó:kon and his mother if she was alive would disapprove of his decision, but to protect the village he had to first know those who intended to harm it. And a small part of him, although he never wished to admit it to himself also longed to see the world beyond the valley. The world of his yellow-haired friend.

"I seek training from Achilles. My village . . . my land is at risk of being taken from me again." He thought aloud, careful not to mention the secret group that he had proclaimed his loyalty to. He trusted her completely, but even now when she looked confused at his words, he knew he could not divulge a secret that was not his to say. Even to her.

"Again?" She voiced, her hand tightening on his and if it was any possible, she leaned in even more. He could trace every thing on her face at this distance. Her azure eyes that changed colours more than the seasonal trees in his village, her cheeks that would go from pale to scarlet in mere seconds. Her teeth were as white as the snow, straight and evenly sized.

And once again when he realised that he had been staring, he lowered his eyes - a burning shame wrapped around with a strange desire to stare at her even longer. "My village - it was burned by a terrible person." He sighed, clearing away the last remaining thoughts that had recently began to cloud his mind. "I lost everything that day - my mother, my home, my freedom . . ." And then looking up with desolate brown eyes, he whispered the last part to her. "My friend."

Silver rain fell from her blue-grey stormy eyes - the emotion inside them leaving him breathless. Her eyelashes were dampened and she with a pained cry like that of a wounded animal, slammed into his chest. Her arms wound tight around his neck so much that he struggled to breathe with his nose alone. The smell of flowers sent him home again into the forests in which he ran free, but the coldness of her tears kept him grounded to the hard rock on which he perched upon.

With a heavy heart, his own arms wrapped around her tiny waist and for once he allowed himself to relax in her presence. She didn't notice when he closed his eyes in her golden hair or the content smile that swept across his face. She did, however, notice the strong pulsing of his heart and pulled enough just to give him an inquisitive glassy eyed stare.

"Raton?" Her fingers touched his bear claw necklace with a slight hesitation. "Are you . . . seeking training to avenge your mother?"

A sinister dread crept up in her heart at the bloodthirsty vengeance that entered his brown eyes that seemed almost black. "Yes. I will avenge my mother and my people."

Frightened at his words, she clutched his large hand in her own. "What if he hurts you too? What if he tries to kill you too?!"

He refrained from telling her that he had already been targeted once before in fear that she would begin to cry again. He didn't think someone's tears could cause a physical pain to rip through him, but she had managed to do that. And he doubted he could withstand that pain again. "I will not approach him till I am sure I will win. Do not worry."

She sniffled at his words and then placed her head back in the crook of his neck again. "Will you let me help? I can-!"

He pulled away harshly. "No."

If she thought he was desperate to risk her life for his own aims, then she did not understand the importance she held in his life. He would never endanger her life in the pursuit of his own goals and for once, he did not care to comfort her when she looked at him rejected.

"I can help you! I have contacts who can-!"

He glared, furious at what she continued to suggest. "No. This is my war and I will fight it alone." Her face and heart fell, saddened at his words as if he had struck her across the face. "If you truly wish to help, then promise me . . . that you will not leave again."

Leave him again? The thought had not entered her mind even once. She had lived with his memory all her life and he was worried that she would leave him?

Grim, she buried her face for the third time in his neck and then whispered a promise close to his ear. "I'll never leave you again. No matter what happens, I will always be here."

* * *

 **I know I haven't updated in forever and for that I really apologise - I have had some personal commitments to deal with. This is a small update, but I really wanted to post this earlier rather than later. Thank you once again for reading 3!**


	13. Responsibility

_1770, Boston_

The day of her impending departure was arriving sooner than expected. Daisy Lee had begun to enjoy the company of her friend and his obscure mentor in the two days she had stayed at the manor. Not to mention, the news of the attack on her had spread across the entire region and soon she had visitors who had come with their little offerings for her good health. Their unbound kindness had touched her and once again proposed a comparison to the place from which she had originated from.

People in her society were rather austere. With affections and with good words, there would be a hint of reservation. She supposed they were not so keen to let their emotions be exposed in full view, but to see the opposite here warmed her heart. Not to mention, she rather enjoyed the attention.

"'Ello, Miss Daisy!" Catherine, the lumberjack's wife called to her. A basket was clutched in her hand, no doubt containing food and medicine. " _It main be huir uv a tirin' tae be stuck in scratcher!_ "

Daisy smiled at the woman's Scottish accent. " _Aye_. _Ah lang tae explair thes bonnie place!_ "

Joyful surprise emerged on the portly woman's face and she decided to switch back for the sake of the intrigued boy who sat next to the girl. "My, my! I did not know you were from Scotland, miss!"

She was glad her father was not around. He had a particularly strong hatred for the Scots, but knew that it would be politically inaccurate to voice his dislike. Yet, unbeknown to him, he had never realised that Miss Penelope was originally a Scotswoman and so she had somewhat learned and mastered the art of speaking English with a touch of Scottish.

"No, I apologise for misleading you, missus Catherine. I am from Cheshire, but my governess was Scottish."

At her words, the woman looked particularly uncomfortable. "Governess?! I-I . . . did not realise you were a lady, miss!"

The young girl shook her head, her curls catching the light and giving it an appearance of a halo. Catherine was not surprised that the boy was bedazzled by the girl -she was incredibly beautiful and feminine. Her manners and eloquence spoke for her high status, but it was in the way she would interact with everyone. Never had she come across a noblewoman who had spoken to her with so much respect. The same respect that she would give to someone who was of her equal status.

"I am very much glad that I am no lady!" She grimaced as an image of her being followed by a dozen Redcoats entered her mind. She was pretty sure their presence would greatly impede upon her free and independent travels and this was something that was unacceptable to her. "I enjoy my freedom as the next person, but I am often not allowed the luxury to partake in it."

Connor, who sat beside her and had remained silent in the whole exchange felt guilty at her words. He had refused her request to explore the region repeatedly and had held her bedridden in fear that she would reopen her wounds. She had eventually stopped requesting and had taken to reading his study material with him that Achilles had demanded he complete. But now, upon noticing the longing in her blue eyes, he realised that in his desire to keep her safe, he too had limited her freedom.

"Not to worry, miss! In a wee' bit of time, you'll be hopping around everywhere!" She placed the basket on the table, turning to Connor with a hesitant request. "I hate to be a bother, Connor, but pray tell what is the time?" Her face bloomed red with embarrassment as the boy instantly pulled out an old pocket watch that Achilles had handed down to him and informed her it was nearly midday. She nodded hurriedly, longing to escape the curious blue eyed girl who no doubt would find the fact that she could not read strange.

And when the front door clicked shut, she turned to the boy who was flicking through the pages with little intent. "Why did she run off like that? I would have quite liked to have her company around for longer."

He put his book down with a sigh, as if her question had tired him greatly. "I do not wish to assume, but it seemed she was rather embarrassed."

Daisy felt as if she had been been slapped. "Embarrassment? Whatever for?!"

He placed the pocket watch back in the drawer. "She, like many others here cannot read. It brings her a great deal of shame from her people."

Silence ensued for a few moments as the book in her hand began to feel like a heavy weight of shame. All these years, she had been privileged to receive the finest education and her father had wasted no amount in making sure she had access to the most qualified tutors. But where had this all lead her? She would read many novels and yes, it had enlightened her mind, but for what reason. Her future was like many girls her age - to be wed off to a rich patrician and to bear many children. Already, she had received a few proposals, but they had all greatly disappointed her. Her father had understood that she having seen thirteen summers was perhaps not ready to settle down and so had not forced his authority over her.

She longed to do something with herself. Raton, her friend - although not a white man still had a future that was rich with possibilities. He had a dream that had brought him out from his small village to this homestead. Here, he was under the care of Achilles, but still more free than he had ever been before. Raton had found the courage to step past the valley that had entrapped him, but she was still trapped in a life filled with rules and propriety.

Connor was surprised when she grabbed his hand with a grip much greater than ever before. "Raton. How did it feel to . . . to leave everyone you loved and begin your life here?"

"Why do you ask?" He asked, not liking the glint of hopelessness in her blue eyes.

She looked defensive at his response. "I - I always wonder how people can leave their loved ones. It - it seems . . . frightening."

"It is because I love them that I am here. Everything that I do and will ever do is for them."

His heartfelt answer touched her immensely. She moved to wrap her arms around his shoulder, her head finding the place on his shoulder. "Do you miss them?"

He hugged her side tightly - a tear threatening to escape as an image of the young Kanen'tó:kon trembling on a tree branch entered his mind. "Everyday. I have precious memories of that place. My mother and my childhood. My friend, Kanen'tó:kon. And meeting you."

He twirled a lock of her hair, fascinated by the pure gold that reminded him of the prairie he had seen once. "Yet, I . . . I knew that hiding in my village till _they_ came for my people was futile. I had to leave my village so that I could protect them. It was the only way."

She sniffled loudly making him pull away urgently. He faced her then - a serious sheen in his brown eyes reminding her that he was not going to tolerate any lies or excuses. "What troubles your mind, _Otsi'tsa_?"

Her heart trembled at the thought of telling him her deepest thoughts. No one had ever cared to ask her what was on her mind before and she had never told a soul. But he looked at her with sincere eyes as if reminding her that she could divulge her troubles to him with confidence.

Taking a deep breath, she met his eyes with a small hope. "I wish to do something that could help others, Raton. But. . ." She stopped to look down at the feathers that dotted everywhere on his person. ". . . but I can't."

To say that he was shocked at her admission would be an understatement. The first time he had seen her in Boston, she was racing away after delivering the enslaved man to a path of freedom. From Samuel Adams, he had heard that she was desperate to see the slaves to New Orleans and he did not know many from the loins of a white man who would embark upon a path which would see them scorned from their own kind.

"You helped that black man . . . Philippe? He and many others are free today because you found courage to help them." Her blue eyes shimmered with an emotion he found difficult to understand. Nonetheless, he carried on, hoping his words could bring some comfort to her mental anguish. "You are already doing something to help others. From a grain of sand to a great mountain, all is sacred."

"I did not know you were there. I was frightened it was a Redcoat." She looked desolate again. "And that is the very issue. I am frightened to do more when I wish to do so much. And I see you . . ."

His throat was suddenly dry as she looked at him with intense blue eyes. They reminded him of someone from a distant past - eyes that longed for freedom, but were also resigned to its fate. The eyes of a soul that had been trapped for eons. They reminded him of her coloured friend - Zeke.

"I see you and the world that stands to put you and your people down." She touched the cuts on his hand and stared long at their colour contrast. "You . . . have such courage. Even when you told me to never come to the valley again, you were protecting your village. You had courage then and . . . you have it now."

And then she moved away to the end of the bed and turned on to her side and closed her eyes.

He never felt so alone.

* * *

Looking upon the thick foliage of the forests, Daisy decided that despite the bobcat that had nearly ripped her to pieces, she still enjoyed the walk. Forests were rarely quiet - with the chirping of the birds, cries of the eagles or the calls of the foxes, yet it still retained its peace. She wished she could find such peace in Boston, but with the British constantly at odds with the residents, she knew it would be long before such peace would enter the city.

A sigh escaped her as the day of her departure now loomed closer than ever. It had taken immense grit for her to lie to her stewardess and come calling for her friend, but the more she stayed in his company the longer she wished to stay. No doubt, Achilles - her friend's mentor would soon grow incensed at her presence. Guests were not supposed to overstay their welcome.

"The wind has changed. . ." Raton stated simply. It had always been his way to break the ice by adding in a small unforeseen comment. The fact that this habit of his had not changed brought an amused smile to her face.

When she did not speak, he added again. "The snow has begun its transition back to its original form. . ."

She walked faster to hide the full smile that had taken over her face. Wishing to prolong this game of silence, she decided to ignore him further.

An irritated sigh escaped from behind her before he mumbled. "The Great Spirit takes life and bestows it. . ."

Laughter finally escaped her at his insistence and she turned to the boy who looked taken aback by her reaction. "Did I - is there something funny?"

He watched as she pulled a handkerchief from the piles of ruffles of her dress before wiping away the tears that remained on her cheeks. Strange - he had never see someone laugh so hard at his remarks that they would be forced to weep with it.

"No, _pfff_." She suppressed another bout of giggles that threatened to escape. "Forgive me, Raton - I was not laughing at you. Merely at your insistence."

He blushed terribly at her words. "I was not insistent. I was merely appreciating the Great Spirit for the gifts that have been bestowed upon us."

She sat upon the broken trunk of the tree; her humour more tamed now. "The Great Spirit? Like The Father?"

Connor only had a brief knowledge about the religion of the colonials from Achilles' study material. "I have little insight about your religion." He admitted, truthfully.

She smiled, patting the trunk beside her and waiting for him to join her before she began to explain. "The Father is the Lord in Heaven. Everything is under His control. He gives life and He gives death. It is to Him we return."

The similarity in their beliefs brought him a great deal of comfort. Ever since his training with Achilles had begun, he had been made to feel that the world of the whites was completely unique from his own. Meeting her again had shown him that was only true to an extent.

"I see." He stated simply, turning to look at the eagle that sat watching them ominously. Eagles were venerated in his culture and their presence could bring both glad tidings or a series of misfortunes. He prayed that this eagle would fly to the Great Spirit so He could protect their friendship from further harm. But most importantly, he prayed that the Great Spirit would watch over her safety.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton?"

His brown eyes were zeroed in on her instantly. She had barely ever used his full name to address him so he wondered what had compelled her to do so.

The grim expression on her face caused his heart to sink. "I have been your guest for five nights now." She intertwined her thin fingers together. "It is time I return home."

"Your wounds have barely closed up. You are not ready for a journey home." He replied, irritated. He could not believe what he had heard. Their union after years of separation had been of five days of which four were spent in her getting her strength back. It was too soon and he was not ready.

". . . I feel much better, Raton. Honest." She made a cross on her chest and the notion completely escaped him. "I cannot be a nuisance to you and mister Davenport anymore."

Nuisance? Her presence had definitely ruined his everyday strict routine. He could no longer sit in the living room with Achilles to study and instead found himself in the room she rested in with an excuse. He would find himself studying her for his study material had become uninteresting. Taking midnight walks in the forest to renew his strength were now midnight discussions till one of them dropped from exhaustion. Yes, she had become a nuisance, but he found that he rather enjoyed the nuisance after all.

"You are not. Achilles has insisted you are not to leave till your wounds have healed." He gently clutched at her tiny wrist that was covered with bandages. The fact that she did not cringe with pain was a good sign that she was making recovery. However, it was still not enough for him to allow her to leave.

She sighed, looking conflicted. "My father would worry. He will not take well to my disappearance." It was the truth. Her father could never stay away for too long. Even when he had been away in Poland, he demanded that she would write him letters of her daily day to day tasks. After the passing of her grandmother, she and her father only had each other.

"Then write him a letter." He did not understand why she had not done this before. "A convoy leaves for Boston every two hours. Your letter will be delivered before evening."

The thought of her father marching down here with a troop of Redcoats and taking the peace with it brought a sour taste in her mouth. She loved her father dearly, but he had never shared her love for the countryside. Not to mention, the Redcoats were cruel to coloured men and women. There was a chance they could be cruel to her friend too.

"No." She said. The determination in her voice and the way her back tensed told him that there would be a fight.

Connor, although of a calm personality admitted to himself that she always had the skill to bring out his stubborn side. "You will _not_ leave."

Daisy Lee gave him a final glare before she stood up from the trunk and began to walk towards the path that had lead them here.

She was more stubborn than him, he decided with a grin. Climbing on to a branch of the tree, he waited till she noticed he was not behind her. When she did not hear footsteps except her own, she turned around to check with slightly less confidence. There was not a trace of him.

He felt terribly guilty at the petrified look that swept across her face. "Ra . . . ton?" She asked meekly, looking towards the darkness that was obscured by the snowy pine trees. Her blue eyes were wild with terror as she looked around the opening, the fear addling her mind that she no longer knew the path to take. "I-I-It's not fu-funny!"

He grinned, before dropping a snowball gently on her golden head. She shrieked in a manner that was completely odd of her. It was strange - he had expected her to scream in the way he saw many ladies in Boston scream. A scream that was light and restrained, but hers was underlined with terror. Guilt swept over him again when she connected her large blue eyes to his. She was crying. He had made her cry.

"RATON!" She screamed, now extremely furious with him. Soon, she had bundled some snow into a snowball and had chucked it straight at his face. He did not dodge it. He had made her cry after all.

Through the snow that covered his eyes, he felt affection for her grow in his heart. She stood there with her hands on her waist, her face red with anger and her lips pursed in the same way that his mentor would do. Laughter bubbled inside him at the comparison, but he knew better to rile her up further.

"Forgive me, _Otsi'tsa_!" He said with a full grin, brushing the snow off his shoulders. The name had come to him when he had speculated the meaning of her name. Flower.

Realising that he was leaning between the V of the tree, worry began to dull her anger. "How did - did you get up there, Raton? You will fall!"

"I will not." He hopped to the next branch emanating a shriek from her. Warmth spread through him at her worry. It felt nice to be worried for.

When he clutched at the overhead branches to jump to the further branch, she grew paler. Finally, taking pity on her state, he landed before her, smiling when colour returned to her face. She grabbed at his sleeves and began an examination to check for wounds. His heart soared with a mixture of emotions. Friendship, trust and a feeling that he could not quite grasp.

"Thank goodness you did not hurt yourself! That was not funny, Raton!" She huffed, poking a finger into his arm. "I will tell Achilles about your endeavours so that he will keep a watchful eye over you!"

Brown eyes looked serious at her words and his heart pounded as he asked the next question. "Why Achilles? You can be around to keep an eye over me."

"Oh . . . Raton. I wish I could stay, but . . . I cannot. You have your people who rely upon you." She interlocked their fingers bringing butterflies to his stomach. It caused him great confusion that he was rather enjoying the feeling and wished for it to never end. She continued, oblivious to his entanglement of emotions. "The same way I have people who rely upon me. My servants who wish to be free and those who come to me seeking help. I cannot stay here any longer knowing that those poor men and women are subjected to that abuse. I _have_ to go."

The look in her eyes told him that she would not budge this time. Their time together had come to an end once again and the emptiness that had consumed him for years began to return. He did not want her gone. He could not bear to not see her again. Boston was only a few hours away, but he would not be there to protect her should another threat come her way.

"You will write to me?" He questioned, not caring if it sounded like he was beseeching. The truth was that he was.

She brightened. "Of course! I'll write everyday!" She moved to hug him, but he held her at an arms length. He needed to see her promises were set in stone.

"And you will . . . not forget about me?"

This time it was she who looked serious. "You offend me, Raton! I never forgot you!"

Overjoyed at her words, he touched her face with a yellow feather. "A present."

She snatched it eagerly, marvelled at the amber colour that caught the light at the tips. "A goodbye present?"

Connor merely turned to the eagle nest from which he had acquired the feather. _A forever present._

* * *

 **Terminology :**

 _Otsi'tsa - Simply means flower in Mohawk._

 _It main be huir uv a tirin' tae be stuck in scratcher! - It must be hell of a tiring to be stuck in a 'scratcher'. Scratcher means bed._

 _Aye_. _Ah lang tae explair thes bonnie place! - Yes. I long to explore this 'bonnie' place!. Bonnie means pretty or attractive in Scottish slang._

 ** _Thank you for reading! Next chapter will be a timeskip!_**

 ** _Goodbye!_**


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